


Somewhere Down the Line

by niffizzle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Author Draco Malfoy, Education Policy Maker Hermione Granger, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Marriage Contracts, Post-Hogwarts, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 87,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niffizzle/pseuds/niffizzle
Summary: Draco Malfoy’s memoir recounting the war is the book everyone is talking about, and even the war heroine herself can’t wait to get her hands on it. But as Hermione and Draco start to see a different side of each other, Draco’s parents are in the midst of setting him up with the perfect pureblood wife. Just once in his life, Draco would like to be in control of his own decisions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited to finally start publishing my next full-length fic! I'm awful at predicting how long my stories will be, but it's safe to say that this one will be of considerable length by the time we're through. I'm already a few chapters ahead, so I'm going to do my absolute best to maintain weekly updates, but I will let you know if circumstances change and I have to adjust accordingly.
> 
> Thank you as always to CourtingInsanity for being a wonderful beta, and another shout out to LightofEvolution who has tolerated all of my questions and been my moral support (*not cheerleader*).
> 
> Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

It was a Wednesday afternoon in early-October, yet Flourish and Blotts had never been more crowded. There was hardly an empty spot in the store as witches and wizards of all ages stood shoulder to shoulder in the cramped aisles, doing their best to avoid bumping into each other as much as they could help it. A few chairs were organised in haphazard rows, all of which had been filled hours prior, mostly by recent Hogwarts graduates who whispered excitedly to one another as the time grew closer.

The sound of the bell at the front of the store tinkled as more people crammed their way inside. The crowd grumbled at the late arrivers who tried to shove their way forward, all of them impatient for the highly anticipated author. Lucky for them, he wouldn’t keep them waiting too much longer.

Draco peered out at the hoards of people and grinned to himself. The war may have left a lot of things in ruins, but the Malfoy name was not one of them. The Malfoys had always had a knack for, for lack of a better word, _weaselling,_ their way out of trouble. After all, his father had managed to evade Azkaban after the first war, why should the second war be any different? All they had to do was lay low for a few years, and when they eventually emerged from behind the gates of Malfoy Manor, the wizarding world had been all too willing to let the past stay in the past and accept them back into their good graces.

Of course, his memoir had certainly helped in that process. The war had ended years ago, yet people still scurried to read about the sordid details -- and life inside the Malfoy Manor during that time piqued nearly everyone’s interests. There were moments where he and his family didn’t come off in the best light, but that had been a necessary element in the storytelling. He wasn’t daft enough to portray his family as entirely infallible; no one would accept his trustworthiness as an author otherwise. It also didn’t hurt that people were quite forgiving when your mother was the one who lied to the Dark Lord to save their precious Potter.

Draco walked out from behind a bookcase, and the crowd broke into low applause as he made his way to the table. In the sea of faces, he saw a mixture of emotions. The young witches in the front row beamed with rosy cheeks as they clapped their hands together in quick succession, while in the far corners of the room, there were patches of witches and wizards with stern faces and arms folded against their chests.

This came as no surprise. They may have all come to hear him speak, but he was fully aware that many still considered him an enemy not worthy of any sort of ovation. He supposed there was some truth behind that, but it didn’t bother him. It didn’t matter if the person attended because they sincerely enjoyed his book or just wanted to get a glimpse of the infamous Malfoy. Regardless of their motivation, they were there to see him, and that alone proved that his status in the wizarding world wasn’t one of the victims of the war.

With one firm _ahem_ , the crowd grew silent. Draco briefly wondered what else he could make them do with such captivation, but thought better of it, opting to proceed with discussing his book as they all listened with careful ears and the utmost attention. He recounted some events of the war, from the branding of his Dark Mark to the final battle itself, and the witches and wizards interjected with the appropriate gasp when fitting. They lingered on his every word, desperate to hear the story they anticipated most, but if they wanted to know more about what happened on the Astronomy Tower, they’d have to read it for themselves. After all, he was still trying to sell copies of the book.

Once he had concluded, a Flourish and Blotts employee did her best to arrange the jostling crowd into some semblance of a queue for him to sign their books. Her job was a bit easier once the people who came out of mere curiosity had left, but the queue awaiting his autograph still snaked through the countless aisles of books and out the door onto the cobbled alleyway.

Draco reached into his pocket and looked down at his watch. It was already half past one. Judging by the size of the remaining crowd, he’d still have several hours to go until he could leave. His hand preemptively ached just thinking about how many signatures he would have to produce during that time. Refusing to do all that work, he charmed the stack of books at the edge of the table to automatically open to the title page, followed by an enchanted quill to sign his signature. Draco would be the final portion of the assembly line, adding the finishing touch of the person’s name.

He moved through the queue quickly, barely permitting himself time to acknowledge the patrons as they proceeded down the length of the table. He asked each person for their name before scribbling it above his signature, then handing the book back to the person and immediately moving onto the next witch or wizard so that they didn’t get the impression that chit-chat was permitted.

This process continued for what felt like a never-ending stream of customers. His quill hand was growing quite tired, and rather soon, he’d have to bewitch another to do the names as well. He paused to shake out his hand, and then picked the quill back up to continue. 

“Next,” he called, looking down at what was probably the four-hundredth copy of his book that day. “And who should I make it out to?”

“I prefer that you write Hermione.”

His quill froze. Perhaps there were two sets of parents who had named their child as such, but he highly doubted it. He pried his eyes off the book and examined the woman before him. She was wearing a scarf to cover her hair, a feeble attempt to be somewhat discreet, but it was the unmistakable face of Hermione Granger.

It had been years since he’d seen her in person. The last time he had had a solid look at her, they were in the Great Hall in those early morning hours as the dust was still settling. Since then, he’d seen pictures of her every so often in the _Daily Prophet_ that his father read at breakfast, but Draco had been careful not to let Lucius notice the way his eyes had lingered on her image more than he would have deemed appropriate.

During his time of isolation in the Manor, he had taken quite an inconvenient interest in her. Consider it a side-effect to having spent so much time reflecting on the war in order to write the book. Time brought perspective, and with it, he had reluctantly accepted that he had been mistaken with his initial judgement about her. The whole wizarding world now fawned at her feet, and while he would never submit himself to such a practice, he was admittedly curious to get to know the real Hermione Granger -- the one he had refused to properly acknowledge while they were at Hogwarts.

Someone further down the queue coughed, and he was suddenly aware of the other witches and wizards who were still waiting.

“And how do I spell that?” he asked, taking hold of his quill just a bit tighter.

“You? Well, you’ve been spelling it _G-r-a-n-g-e-r_ your whole life, but it’s actually _H-e-r-m-i-o-n-e_.”

He couldn’t resist the quirk of his lips at her retort. The quill met the pages of the book and scratched both her first and last name. When Draco finished, he handed her the signed book, still open to the title page for her to see.

She looked it over and even managed a slight laugh. “A fair compromise.” She placed the book in her bag and gave him a curt nod. “I look forward to reading about the war from your perspective.”

Draco kept his eyes on her until she was out the door, continuing to follow her through the window as she proceeded up the alley. The next witch in the queue had to clear her throat for him to remember the reason he couldn’t chase after her to have a proper conversation. The signing may only be halfway done, but he knew what his mind was going to focus on for the rest of the afternoon.

~*~*~

A quarter after five, Draco finally finished the last signature. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to hold up a fork, let alone a full pint of beer, but he was in desperate need of a small bite and a drink before he made it back to the Manor for dinner. From the other end of Diagon Alley, the Leaky Cauldron called his name. He thanked the owner of Flourish and Blotts, who assured him that _he_ was the one who should be thanking _him_ for such a successful event, and made his way to the old pub.

He sat down at the bar and was beginning to peruse the menu when he noticed the witch seated across the way from him, scarf no longer serving as a disguise. Her wild hair had never been particularly difficult to spot, and it was especially easy on a Wednesday before the post-work rush. She was seated alone, a plate of chips and ketchup before her. The thing that caught Draco’s attention the most, however, was the fact that she was actually reading his book and appeared to already be halfway through it.

Without a second thought, he strolled across the pub in her direction. He leaned against the bar and snagged one of the few remaining chips, taking an overdramatic bite.

She looked up, using the dust-cover flap as a bookmark as she shut the book, and gave him a sharp glare, evidently displeased at his interruption. “And who said you could have one of those?”

Draco shrugged and stole another. “No one, but I’ll buy you another plate if that’s what you’re so concerned about, Granger.”

“ _Hermione_ ,” she corrected him. “We’re adults now.”

“Fine. I’ll buy you another plate, _Hermione_.”

A quick wave of his hand and a couple of seconds later, the barkeep stood before Draco, ready for his order. As he told the barkeep what he wanted, Draco watched her from the corner of his eye as she returned the book to her bag. Apparently she was smart enough to realise that she wasn’t going to get any more reading done now that he was there.

It didn’t take long for the barkeep to return with a freshly poured pint for him and a hot serving of chips for them both. He positioned the chips between them and she picked one up, blowing on it to cool down.

“This wasn’t necessary,” she said, smothering the chip in an overly generous amount of ketchup.

“Seeing as you bought my book, and I get a portion of those profits, consider this the spending of that money.” He reached over and grabbed a chip for himself. “And now you can’t complain about how many I take.”

He swallowed it down with some of the beer, all the while, keeping his gaze on Hermione. He hadn’t gotten enough of a proper look at her earlier in the day, too consumed with the surprise that she was there in the first place, but now she was right beside him, and nothing was barring him. Most of her hadn’t changed in the past few years; her hair the same unruly mess and her brown eyes just as rich, but there was a general softness that he was unaccustomed to.

Perhaps that was just what she looked like without the constant stressor of war. It suited her.

But enough with the small talk and the irrelevant observations. Draco took another swig of his drink and got right to it. “So what were you doing there today, anyway?” he asked. It was an innocent enough start, suffice to get her talking.

She leaned back on the barstool and took the bait. “I read Rita Skeeter’s review in last week’s _Prophet_ , and even though I take _very_ little stock in what she has to say, I thought your book sounded interesting. I intended to purchase a copy eventually, but when I noticed the sign in the window this afternoon, I figured I might as well hear your perspective firsthand.” She shrugged and picked up another chip, swirling it around in the vat of ketchup. “I suppose work is probably wondering where I am right now, but I finished my tasks for the day, and I didn’t have any meetings, so they won’t mind.”

“And what exactly is it that you do nowadays?” he asked. The last he had read in the _Prophet_ , she had just left her post at the Ministry.

“I recently started with a small education firm, piloting a program with wizarding families to integrate more streamlined educational standards for young witches and wizards prior to them entering Hogwarts,” Hermione explained. “Our goal is to introduce a universal ten hour a week at-home program that focuses on fundamental reading, basic maths, and Muggle history.”

Draco snorted.

“What?” she snapped.

“I’m sorry, but that’s just about the most Hermione Granger thing I’ve ever heard.”

Hermione's cheeks flared red. “And do you have a problem with it?” She glared at him, seemingly ready to jump into a long lecture justifying her program, but she need not bother.

“No need to get so worked up,” Draco said with a laugh. Part of her was just as he had remembered from their school years, especially the staunch certitude that she was always in the right. It had annoyed him as a child, but he supposed there was an aspect of it that was mildly endearing.

“Believe it or not, I think it sounds like a worthwhile program,” he continued, much to her apparent surprise. ”Although, if I may put in my two Knuts, ten hours a week may be a bit much for some parents, especially those who work. And I am rather curious how you think your reading program would be different from what wizarding families already do on their own. Wizards are entering Hogwarts with the ability to read, so I don’t know what changes you hope to bring.”

A smile stretched up to her cheeks, and without pause, Hermione launched into what was essentially a full-blown business pitch right there in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. She detailed every aspect of the program, from the curriculum to the resources, and even the funding. When she was still only about halfway through, she already had Draco considering whether or not he should offer to invest in the firm.

By the time she finished, the Leaky Cauldron was starting to fill up with witches and wizards who had just gotten off the clock, coming in for their own after-hours pick me up. He pulled out his watch and saw that it was now past six. His mother would be expecting him home soon, and if his childhood had taught him anything, it was that he did not want to endure the wrath of Narcissa Malfoy when someone was late for dinner.

Draco drained the rest of his glass and took one final chip. “Well, I have to get going,” he said, nodding his head in farewell. “It was nice seeing you again.”

And he meant it.

He had barely taken a step away from her when he felt a warm presence on top of his sleeve. Draco froze at the sensation, surprised to see her hand carefully rested on his arm.

“Surely you can stay for just one more beer. We haven’t even discussed your book yet.”

She looked up at him with those large brown eyes, and Draco felt a strange pang at the idea of actually leaving. Sticking around for another round couldn’t hurt. Besides, they didn’t typically start dinner until closer to seven. He could spare a few extra minutes.

He’d stay. But only for one more beer. Or until Hermione ran out of questions. Whichever came first.

~*~*~

Draco waved his hand in the air, and the barkeep placed yet another round of beers in front of them, taking away what was probably his fifth and her third or so empty pint. 

“No, no, _no_ ,” Draco said. “You’ve got it all wrong. It was _Crabbe_ who accidentally knocked the moondew into Nott’s cauldron!” He snickered at the memory. “The poor bloke was never able to tell the difference between moondew and moonseed!” 

Hermione appeared to be in stitches as they recalled the incident from third year Potions. Their conversation had long since moved past the topic of his book, the notion of dinner with his parents now nonexistent in Draco’s mind. All he could focus on was the memory of the thick potion exploding in Nott’s face, leaving a series of marble-sized boils above his right eyebrow that had taken weeks to disappear despite several visits to the infirmary. Draco could still picture the furious look on Madam Pomfrey’s face when he had escorted Nott there.

“I don’t think I had ever seen Snape upset with a Slytherin before that day!” Hermione said through the laughter. “You… bumbling... _idiot_!” she said in her best attempt at a Snape imitation.

It wasn’t very good, but it still caused a fit of laughter from Draco. He reached for his beer, but he couldn’t stop long enough to take a sip. He eventually gave up as a new memory popped up.

“You should have seen Snape fourth year when we had to take those dance lessons for the Yule Ball,” he said, wiping away a tear that was starting to form. “Of all people, he picked _Tracey Davis_ to model with, and I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life. You remember her, right? She _hated_ Snape, and we all knew it except for Snape apparently. Or maybe he did, and this was his way of torturing her. Either way, she kept her arms stick straight so she could be as far away from him as possible, and everyone just sat there in silence, watching the pained expression on her face as Snape _twirled_ her.”

Hermione burst into another bout of laughter, her smile pushing her eyes into small crescents. In all the years that he had known Hermione, he couldn’t ever remember a time that he had made her laugh. Oftentimes, he had pushed her to the far opposite side of the spectrum. But watching the way she clamped onto her sides as the giggles poured out of her, he regretted not doing this more when they were younger.

Her face lit up, pausing to collect herself, and that bright smile returned. “Oh, goodness, you should have seen our lessons. McGonagall picked _Ron_!”

Draco barely paid attention as Hermione recounted the tale. He couldn’t care less about Weasley. He’d much rather hone in on his companion’s expressive nature and the excited sparkle in her eyes. Just as he had suspected, he rather enjoyed the real Hermione.

His blissful haze was broken with the bellow of the barkeep.

“Last call!”

Draco looked around the room, and to his surprise, there was barely anyone left in the dining area of the Leaky Cauldron. Was it really that late? He dug into his pocket and pulled out his watch once more, shocked to see that it was nearing midnight. Merlin’s beard, had he and Hermione seriously been sitting there for over six hours? Draco returned the watch and counted out seven Galleons from his pocket.

Hermione paused at whatever point she was at in her story and tilted her head at him. “What are you doing?” she asked, looked at the currency in his hand.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he said as he placed the coins on the bar. “Typically payment is encouraged at restaurants.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No need to get smart right now. I was referring to how much you put down!”

“Well, we did have quite a few beers.”

“And I intend to pay for mine.”

She turned to reach into her bag, but Draco stopped her. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s on me.”

After a few more attempts to pay her own way, Hermione eventually surrendered and let Draco win. He wasn’t sure why he had insisted, especially considering how much of a fuss she made over it, but he had. It wasn’t as if that was a significant sum of money, just a few Galleons.

They gathered their belongings and exited the Leaky Cauldron, the last two patrons to leave the dining area for the night. The door had just shut behind them when Hermione turned to Draco.

“I had a surprisingly good time tonight,” she said, beaming up at him. “I’m glad I decided to go to your talk.”

Draco couldn’t agree more. It had been a pleasant evening. One of the best he had had since the end of the war.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Draco.”

She gave him a final smile before she Disapparated, leaving Draco alone on the cobbled street.

He decided to take a short stroll down the deserted alley before making it home himself. His mother was probably waiting up to scold him for not owling her that he wasn’t going to be at dinner, but he’d much rather put that off a while longer and enjoy the fresh fall breeze. It also had the added benefit of giving him time to develop a semi-believable excuse as to why he hadn’t come home in time. His mother wouldn’t be as adverse, but he knew for a fact that his father wouldn’t react kindly to the news that he had spent all evening with a Muggle-born, let alone Hermione Granger.

But what his parents didn’t know, didn’t get him disowned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! Thank you so much for the kind feedback so far. I am sincerely overwhelmed. I couldn't resist sharing the next chapter any longer, so here you go :) Hope you enjoy and tell me what you think!

Hermione landed home in her flat, and after quickly patting Crookshanks hello, she headed directly to her bed, only to immediately pull out Draco’s book. She knew that Muggle doctors didn’t recommend reading in bed before falling asleep, but some rules were meant to be broken, and this happened to be one of them. It was late at night and far past the appropriate time for her to have settled in her bed’s warmth, but she was far too interested to call it a night just yet.

She reopened the book to the spot she had been compelled to stop at after Draco’s interruption earlier that evening. She had had half a mind to tell him to buzz off and let her read in peace, but part of her was so shocked that he was voluntarily striking up a conversation with her that she was curious to see where it would lead. And surprisingly enough, it had turned out to be a solid, and quite enjoyable, discussion.

She adjusted the pillow behind her back and forced her eyes to fight off the slumber a little while longer. Just one more chapter, then she would resign herself to sleep. She had just gotten to the part where he was explaining what it had been like to return to Hogwarts under Snape’s temporary tenure as headmaster. She had heard the horror stories from Ginny, Neville, and Luna, so she already knew some of the abhorrent details, but she had always gotten the impression that there were some aspects of it that they had purposefully downplayed.

Draco wasn’t so kind.

Her friends’ stories hadn’t prepared her for the gruesome truth of what it had been like to be one of those students who had been expected to participate so willingly in the Carrows’ demented games. He recounted the tales of detentions, watching Crabbe and Goyle perfect their Cruciatus Curses on those students who had dared to defy the Death Eater siblings. He spared no details when describing their screams for home, Hogwarts no longer the magical haven they had dreamed of attending their entire childhoods. And as their cries echoed throughout the classroom, Draco stood there in a corner, faking a smile as was expected.

The scene made Hermione’s stomach churn as she was forced to confront the horrors that had occurred to her former classmates while she, Ron, and Harry had been disconnected from the rest of the wizarding world. While they had been off hunting Horcruxes, students young and old had suffered in the place she used to regard as her home.

Of course, she knew certain students had thrived under this warped regime. As much as she hated the thought of it, several students had agreed with that administration or were too cowardly to say otherwise. Back then, she had always just assumed Draco had fallen into the first category, entering that school year feeling as if he had just been named king of the castle. But now she was learning that while he presented himself that way to his half-blood and pureblood classmates, internal turmoil poisoned each one of his actions. 

His account had Hermione completely engrossed, but there was one moment in particular that had her convinced that the Draco Malfoy she knew as a child was not the one who emerged from the ashes of the war. He wrote of one particular Dark Arts class during which Amycus Carrow had taught the proper execution of the Killing Curse. Draco faked a sudden bout of sickness and excused himself from the rest of class, unable to fathom having to perform the spell. He said that his mind had been overcome with tortuous memories, forced to recall the dozens of rats he had practiced the spell on in preparation for his intended mission during sixth year, the suddenly blanched look on Dumbledore’s face when Snape had performed the deed instead, and the panicked cries from Professor Burbage as he witnessed a second life taken by the green sparks.

No, Draco Malfoy was no longer the same cruel and heartless person she had always assumed him to be, and he was infinitely better for it.

She wished she could keep reading, desperate to finish the book, but the task couldn’t be done at that twilight hour. It was nearly one in the morning, and it had been enough of a struggle to read that one chapter when accounting for her exhaustion and lack of entirely sound mind after a few drinks.

She positioned a bookmark near the edge of the spine and set the book on her nightstand. With a single swish of her wand, she vanished the lights in her bedroom and settled her head on the pillow, letting her heavy eyelids finally win the battle they’d been fighting the past half hour.

As she let the darkness cover her eyes, she reflected on the day and all its pleasant surprises. At first, she had been cautiously sceptical if the words and thoughts reflected in his pages were true, but after spending essentially all evening with him, she had no doubt that he meant what he wrote. A few years ago, they wouldn’t have made it six minutes without him hurling an insult her way, but tonight he had managed to make it nearly six hours being completely and entirely civil. Their discussion about his book had been insightful, Draco leaving none of her questions unanswered, and they had somehow transitioned into a casual conversation that was quite enjoyable. He had been respectful, kind, and even quite funny, but what was most surprising was that she actually _hoped_ to see him again soon.

Perhaps she’d run into him again some time in the Leaky Cauldron or maybe somewhere else in Diagon Alley. Until then, she’d have to settle for finishing his book.

~*~*~

Draco shielded his eyes from the morning sun that shined too bright for comfort through the large window that overlooked the gardens from their dining room. At the head of the table, his father perused the pages of the _Daily Prophet_ , grumbling about something that he evidently disagreed with, while his mother, positioned at the other end, stirred her tea. She withheld her typical morning greeting, apparently still miffed by his absence the night before.

The expectation was that he joined them for breakfast by nine, and he had only barely managed to make it in time. The morning had been an unexpected struggle due to his exhaustion from lack of sleep. That, and his head felt like a herd of Erumpents were pounding their feet into his brain. Five, maybe six beers, may seem like a significant amount, but over so many hours, it shouldn’t have left him scrambling for a hangover potion. Although, his substitution of chips instead of a proper meal may have played a significant role.

Draco’s stomach grumbled to be fed, and he waved his wand over his breakfast to ensure it was at a desirable temperature before sinking in. The knife cut easily through his croque-madame, the yolk of the fried egg still a bit runny, just the way he preferred. He had barely taken a bite when his father scoffed at the newspaper.

“That Granger girl was spotted reading your book,” he sneered.

The breakfast sandwich caught in Draco’s throat, forcing him to cough several times before he was able to swallow properly. He could sense his mother’s questioning gaze, but he opted to ignore it, choosing to pour himself a glass of orange juice to wash down what remained lodged in his throat.

“She, uh, what?” Draco tried to say cooly.

Lucius kept his attention on the paper. “There’s a photograph of her reading your book at the Leaky Cauldron yesterday.”

It was a good thing Draco wasn’t mid-chew or he may have actually choked this time. “What… what else does it say?” His mind raced with the possible additional details that could be documented inside those pages -- ones that would result in a much more unfavourable reaction from his father.

“Nothing else of importance,” Lucius responded, and the tension escape Draco’s shoulders. His father set down the newspaper and sipped his coffee. “I suppose even Mudbloods have decent taste from time to time.”

“Lucius!” Narcissa snapped, breaking her silence.

He wasn’t at all deterred by his wife’s objection. “Just because the war is over does not mean I have to agree with its outcome,” he breezed, taking another casual sip from his drink.

Narcissa simmered at the response, but she dropped the issue, steering the conversation elsewhere. “Disregarding your father’s indecent language, we should be glad that she was seen reading your book. It only proves how well it’s doing if even she’s reading it.”

“Yes, well, she’d read anything,” Draco said, trying to pass the incident off as nothing of importance.

“It’s still good publicity for you, dear,” Narcissa cooed, apparently willing to let last night’s transgression go as long as it meant avoiding a more unsavoury subject. “And Rita’s glowing review did wonders as well. It got everyone talking -- _especially_ the pureblood families.”

She took a casual sip of her tea, but the cup couldn’t block his mother’s smirk.

He knew that look. And he most certainly knew what often followed it. Suddenly, he wished his mother’s silent treatment would return and the conversation would revert to Hermione.

“ _Mother_ ,” he warned, but it was too late. His father had already set down the newspaper, and this blasted topic was being brought up _again_.

“Many families didn’t consider you a viable option for their daughters after the war,” Lucius said.

“You’ve told me that a hundred times, Father,” Draco sneered through gritted teeth.

“And it appears that now that you’re the talk of the literary wizarding world, your options have opened up again,” his mother chimed in.

“Just yesterday, I received a letter from Miss Parkinson’s father.”

Draco groaned at the mention of his ex. If given a choice, he’d much prefer a mountain troll over her.

Narcissa refilled her tea and added two spoonfuls of sugar. “If you had the decency of coming to dinner last night, we would have told you then, but apparently you had something more important.” She carefully lifted her teacup, not-so-subtly taking another dig at Draco.

He ripped off another bite from the croque-madame to prevent himself from saying something he would later regret having voiced aloud. While their family had regained favorability in the wizarding world as a whole, many pureblood families still resented them. It was no secret that his mother had lied to the Dark Lord about Potter’s supposed death, and his father had provided evidence against several Death Eaters during his trial, leading to multiple arrests. While those choices had helped them evade Azkaban, it had deteriorated any connections they had with the remaining pureblood families.

But now that a few years had passed and Draco’s memoir had proven vastly popular, it appeared as if those animosities were starting to fade. Apparently, all transgressions could be forgiven after enough time and potential access to the Malfoy family fortune. His parents wanted to take full advantage of this newfound change of heart, deeming it the opportune time for Draco to find a proper wife and reclaim their standing in pureblood high society once and for all. And if Pansy’s father had sent in a letter, then that meant that the courting process had already started without his approval.

His father resumed reading the newspaper and flipped to the next page. “Although, if you want a better selection pool beyond just Miss Parkinson, I must suggest you come up with a more… _suitable_ job.”

Draco’s silverware met his plate with a clink. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he spat. His inevitable engagement was infuriating enough, but to insult his profession took things too far!

Lucius’s eyes failed to leave the printed pages as he addressed his son. “This author hobby of yours was a cute little pet project while we didn’t leave the Manor, but now that we have re-entered society, it is time for you do something of actual value.”

His fingers clawed into his thigh, channelling all his frustrating into that one point of contact. Draco waited to hear if his mother would object, but she sat there sipping her tea, seeming to agree with his father.

“In that case, I suppose I better get started with the job hunt, shall I?” he seethed, standing up from the table with absolutely no intention of actually doing what he said. He marched past his mother and stormed down the hall, leaving behind his breakfast with only a few bites missing.

~*~*~

“Morning!” Hermione greeted her assistant Gretchen that Thursday morning. She bypassed the door to her office and headed directly to the lounge where a selection of tea and an always hot pot of coffee laid ready for consumption. Typically, Hermione opted for a light herbal tea to start her day, but today called for something stronger. She had barely gotten more than five hours of sleep, and while she didn’t regret her decisions, they were making her morning more difficult than usual. 

Hermione returned to her office, gently blowing over the steaming cup of coffee. Gretchen immediately stood up from behind her desk when she saw her drink.

“Is that coffee?” she asked. “I could have gotten that for you!”

“Oh, that isn’t necessary,” Hermione kindly assured her. Even after months on the job, Hermione still preferred to do certain things on her own. Not that Gretchen was an incompetent assistant -- by no means was that true! -- but fetching Hermione’s morning drink didn’t need to be a part of her job description.

“Is everything alright?” Gretchen continued, following Hermione into her office with a roll of parchment in hand. “When you didn’t come back after lunch yesterday, I feared you might be sick!”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she answered, lowering herself into her desk chair. “Something came up is all.” She took a sip of her coffee, grateful for the much-needed caffeine. Waking up this morning had been more of a struggle than she had anticipated, and she didn’t know whether to blame the alcohol or the late night reading, but it hardly mattered which was the main culprit. She had responsibilities that required returning to after she had neglected them the afternoon before. “So what’s on the docket for today?”

Gretchen looked down at the parchment. “Anders is still compiling those literacy reports in children ages seven to nine, the Muggle Studies department is meeting at one to discuss the presentation order of important Muggle historical figures, and your meeting with Weggers has been moved to Tuesday.”

“Tuesday!?” Hermione asked, taking the parchment out of Gretchen’s hand to read herself. “That woman has been ignoring my owls for weeks, and now she has the audacity to delay our meeting? She knows we’re under deadline to get the Ministry to sign off on these preliminary curriculum outlines!”

“Yes, ma’am, but she sends her sincerest apologies and vows that the meeting will be her top priority that day.”

Hermione scoffed. That was likely. “If that meeting’s no longer this afternoon, then what exactly does need to be done today?”

Gretchen shuffled another parchment. “Well, we can’t proceed with the finalised reading curriculum until we get those numbers back from Anders, so I suppose you could check in on that, but perhaps you could get started on the list of Muggle books you recommend for young witches and wizards?”

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows, wanting to make sure she understood correctly. “You mean, there isn’t anything that needs to get done before the Muggle Studies meeting at one?”

“I suppose nothing pressing,” Gretchen started to stutter, “But if you want me to find something --”

“No, that’s okay,” Hermione said, cutting her off with a reassuring smile. “I know what I’m going to do.”

She handed the parchment back to Gretchen who nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. If you need anything at all, I’ll be right outside.”

“Thank you, Gretchen. Just close the door on your way out.”

The moment the door clicked closed, Hermione began rummaging through her bag. She didn’t have _anything_ to do this morning? That had to be a first! And while typically she wouldn’t hesitate to get started on that list of Muggle books, it didn’t need to get done that exact moment. Besides, she had been forming a preliminary list in her head since the day she had stepped foot in Hogwarts. There was an entire world of literature that they were closed off to! How had her classmates made it through their childhoods without following the adventures of Winnie the Pooh and the rest of the Hundred Acre Wood, or experiencing the wild ride of Mr Toad in _Wind in the Willows_ , or picking up a single Roald Dahl book? All children should be exposed to the special kind of magic of reading a wonderful book, but she would save that for later. Right now, there was a different book on the forefront of her mind.

She pulled out Draco’s book and opened it to where she had left off. Personal reading on the job was hardly permitted, but she really couldn’t resist what other stories he detailed in those last hundred pages. The next few chapters were bound to be about what happened those final months of that school year, including the decisive battle, but she was much more interested to read his perspective on what had happened that first time they had seen each other since the end of sixth year. She imagined not very many people knew much about what had transpired in Malfoy Manor that day, least of all the lie he told to save her, Ron, and Harry’s life.

After checking that the door was still closed, Hermione dove back into the book.

~*~*~

Draco dropped a handful of Galleons on the counter, and the cashier counted them out as the other shop worker secured the parcel around a great grey owl’s leg for delivery. Did Draco really need a such an ornate inkwell? Absolutely not. But he also didn’t need new dress robes or the latest racing broom either. 

His only regret was not being home when the owls delivered his purchases to the Manor and his parents were confronted with how he had opted to spend his morning after their disagreement. There would be no doubt that Draco wasn’t out on Diagon Alley looking for employment -- that is unless they considered a shopkeeper a “serious” job. In which case, he had done loads of research on potential places of employment.

By the time he exited Scribbulus Writing Implements, the sun was already high in the sky, and the alley was bustling with witches and wizards out on their lunch hour. The shops were now much too crowded for his taste, and after so many hours of reckless spending, he had sufficiently cooled down. He still wasn’t pleased with the situation, but at least he was no longer tempted to do something rash like sweep his breakfast plate to the floor or set the dining table on fire. After all, he had known since childhood that he would one day be expected to marry a pureblood -- he had never even considered any other option. He just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

It was nearing time for him to head home. He had already essentially skipped the past two meals, so he would need food rather soon anyway. Thankfully, lunch at the Manor was far less regimented than the other two meals, meaning he wouldn’t have to endure more comments from his parents for the time being. He was free to mosey in whenever he deemed fit and enjoy his meal in blissful solitude.

Before returning home, Draco decided to make one final stop at Flourish and Blotts to pick up his own copy of the _Daily Prophet_. If he was going to be alone for his meal, then he’d actually get to read the paper on his own terms without fear of his father’s judgement. He wouldn’t mind reading the entire segment about Hermione and his book, despite his father deeming its contents as “nothing of importance.” And when he was finished with that, he could gloss over the classified section and circle the most preposterous positions and “accidentally” leave it out for his father’s displeasure.

That plan, however, was jostled out of his head when he pulled the shop’s door open and immediately collided with a distracted witch who had come barreling out. Draco tumbled onto the pavement, arse bound to be bruised from the harsh impact. He scrunched his eyes together in pain.

“Perhaps if you waited to read that book until you had exited the store, then you would have --”

He opened his eyes.

Curly hair. He should have known.

A smirk replaced his sneer. “Another book so soon?”

Draco pushed himself off the ground and held out his hand to help Hermione up. He half expected her to berate him for being so careless, but where he assumed to see a scowl, he couldn’t find one. Granted, she still didn’t look thrilled, but since when had Hermione Granger ever been thrilled to see him?

“Yes, well, I finished yours already, so I needed another,” she said, smoothing out her skirt.

“Why am I not surprised?” he chuckled, but then stopped. “Wait… How? We didn’t even get home till near midnight!”

She looked down for a second, and for a moment there, Draco thought he saw a faint blush colour her cheeks, but it must have just been the heat of the afternoon sun. “I finished it during work today,” she confessed. “Not to feed the dragon that is your insatiable ego, but I couldn’t put it down.”

 _She_ couldn’t put it down? He had been quite pleased when Rita Skeeter had described his book as a page turner, but it was significantly more satisfying hearing the same sentiment out of her lips. “I venture that’s the highest compliment I could get from you.”

Hermione reached into the bag that rested on her shoulder and pulled out her copy of his book which looked impressively worn for only being in her possession for about twenty-four hours. “Yes, well, you managed to pique my interest with your talk, and then only more so after our conversation last night, so I really couldn’t concentrate on much else until I finished.”

That definitely earned his book the Hermione Granger Seal of Approval. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was rather proud that his memoir was able to captivate her attention. It made him curious as to what else she was reading, and more so, what book she deemed fit to read immediately following his. Draco reached out and examined the new book that she held in her hand, the one she had been so interested in that she didn’t even wait until she was out of the store to begin.

“ _The Toadstool Tales_ by Beatrix Bloxam?” Draco raised an eyebrow. That was probably the last title he expected to discover in her possession. “After reading my memoir, you’re off reading an outdated collection of _children’s stories?_ ”

The sound of her soft laughter filled the surrounding air, and while that hadn’t been his intended response, he smiled, remembering just how good it had felt to make her laugh the night before as well.

“It’s for my work,” she explained, her eyes sparkling from her resulting smile. “We’re in the process of collecting titles of Muggle children’s books for young witches and wizards to read, but in the meantime, I’ve been trying to educate myself on what books are currently available for children. I’ve read _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ more times than anyone should ever have to in their life, but I’d much prefer that to this load of rubbish!”

Draco chuckled. He was all too familiar with _The Toadstool Tales_. His father hadn’t approved of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , taking particular offence to _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ and the presence of a Muggle love interest in the story, so he had been forced to endure the Beatrix Bloxam’s “sanitised” versions. Even as a child, Draco had hated those bland attempts at “wholesome” stories. If he had had that reaction as a mere child, Draco could only imagine Hermione’s repulsion at its thinly veiled agenda.

“You know there are other children’s books out there other than bedtime stories that we outgrew by the time we were six,” Draco remarked, not wanting to waste even one more second remembering that awful book. “Once you’re done poisoning your brain cells with that flaming heap of rubbish, I can think of at least fifteen books that would be much more suitable for your needs.”

He held the copy of _The Toadstool Tales_ out to her, and Hermione tucked it into her bag.

“I’d appreciate that,” she said. “I’ve gotten a few titles from my colleagues, but it’d be valuable to get a pureblood’s opinion as well. We anticipate they’re going to be the hardest demographic to adopt our pre-Hogwarts education program.”

That was an understatement. Even after the war, purebloods were still notoriously reluctant to adopt anything remotely Muggle related. What they often excused as “tradition” was really just an overall aversion to anything new or foreign. Most of them sufficiently faked acceptance in public in order to save face in the post-war culture, but behind their opulent locked doors of old money, it was a different story entirely. Resentment towards Muggle-borns still far outweighed any similar feelings towards the Malfoys, especially in the older generations.

While Draco had spent his years locked away in Malfoy Manor trying to better himself, he couldn’t say the same about his parents. His mother was mildly more accepting, especially considering the shift in her vernacular to avoid a certain word, but that was primarily for social reasons. To use the word in public would be a sure-fire way to destroy any social standing their family had managed to maintain after the war, and Narcissa wouldn’t dare risk that. She did her best to ensure that Lucius didn’t let his true beliefs slip around the wrong people, and so far, they had proven successful. But Draco seriously doubted that there was anything that would change his father’s mind on the subject.

And soon enough, they’d have a pureblood wife lined up for him.

Draco pushed those thoughts away. He had come to Diagon Alley to forget their conversation from breakfast, not to recount his parents' ideology and how they were continuing to force it upon him.

“Well, I better get going,” Hermione interrupted his thoughts. “My lunch hour is almost up, and I have things to do this afternoon. But I expect an owl from you in the near future with a list of those books!”

She started her way back up the cobbled path, but Draco wasn’t ready for her to leave just yet. His stomach growled so loud that he thought Hermione might be able to hear it from a few feet away, but it would have to wait a few more minutes before being satiated. He broke into a short jog and caught up to her, completing disregarding his original plan to purchase a copy of the day’s _Prophet_. Besides, who needed to see the picture of Hermione in the Leaky Cauldron when he had the real thing just a few feet away?

“Didn’t I just get rid of you?” she teased when she noticed him come up next to her.

Draco released a short laugh as he slowed his pace to match hers. “You can’t get away from me that easily, Granger."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow and gave him a quick glance. “I thought we agreed that it’s Hermione now?”

Draco turned around and started walking backwards. It was more difficult to navigate around the passing crowd, but the extra effort was worth the payoff of getting to face her directly.

“Can’t expect a man to change overnight,” he played along. “Some things take time to sink in. But I’ll warn you in advance that in some cases, you’ll always be Granger.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but he could still detect her mild amusement as she did. “When it comes to you, I suppose I’ll just have to take what I can get,” she decided. “But you only get one Granger for every ten Hermiones!”

“Deal,” he said, reaching his hand out to solidify their agreement which she readily accepted.

She shook her head at the ridiculousness of it all, pursing her lips together to conceal what seemed to be a smile trying to force its way to the surface. “Well, if that’s all settled,” she said, “what else do you want, _Malfoy_?”

Draco couldn’t resist a brief smile of his own at the way she drew out his last name as if it would irritate him as much as his usage of her last name seemed to incite her. Back at Hogwarts, hardly any of his friends had used his given name, so he was rather accustomed to it. But he couldn’t dwell on the topic long, having to brainstorm a reason for chasing after her.

“Well, you finished my book, but you have yet to tell me your thoughts on the rest of it,” he quickly justified. “Considering the onslaught of questions I got yesterday, there’s no way you made it through those last few chapters without at least a couple hundred more.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” she said, stopping in front of a set of stairs leading up to a brick building. “I have an endless stream of questions just waiting for you to answer, but a casual run in at Flourish and Blotts isn’t nearly enough time to even start to cover it.”

Draco looked up at the building that he assumed to be her office. It was a relatively large structure, but based on everything she had told him about the education firm the night before, they probably didn’t take up the whole building -- maybe a floor at most. But it was a prime location in the middle of Diagon Alley, so they must be doing well enough to afford the real estate.

She took a step towards the building, and Draco knew that his time with her that afternoon was coming to a close. There was an odd sensation at the bottom of his stomach at that thought, but he must just be getting hungry again.

“We’ll have to save your interrogation for some other time then,” he concluded. “Next time you see me, I give you permission to question me until your brain can’t think of any more.”

Hermione snorted a quick laugh. “That sounds like my kind of challenge, so I accept.” She turned and motioned towards the door. “Well, this is my office, and I’ve got to go. It’s almost one and --”

“No need to explain. Some people have _actual_ jobs. Just get going, Granger!”

“Hermione!” she shouted back at him as she jogged up the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed. “Consider this an IOU for ten uses of your given name!”

She flashed him a parting smile, her slight chuckle audible even from where Draco stood.

“Goodbye, _Malfoy_ ,” she said as she disappeared behind the door.

Draco lingered on the pavement as the last sight of her through the glass panel vanished up the stairs. He had now managed to spend two significant chunks of time with Hermione Granger, and both times had left him feeling happier and more at ease than any of his days spent at the Manor in recent memory. But there was an easy enough explanation for that -- he simply enjoyed the company of someone his age. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Goyle -- their friendship, or whatever word one would use to describe their relationship, hadn’t been the same since Crabbe died. And now that he and Pansy had gone their separate ways, he didn’t even have her to rely on in desperate times for companionship.

Draco groaned, once again remembering the letter that his father had received from Pansy’s father. Gods, he could only imagine what a marriage stuck with _Pansy Parkinson_ would be like. He’d almost prefer Azkaban. Just the thought of her shrill voice waking him up each morning sent a shiver down his spine and a scowl across his lips. Thankfully his mother had never cared for Pansy’s mother, or Pansy for that matter, so he was fairly certain he would be spared from that eternal hell. But Draco would be willing to wager his entire inheritance that her letter would be far from the last his family received.

Draco turned on his heels and stalked down Diagon Alley, any lingering bliss from his time with Hermione now tainted by the resentment that had resurfaced. He could complain about his parents’ plans for his future until he was blue in the face, but he knew that it wouldn’t do him much good. Knowing his father, he would have a marriage contract all drafted and awaiting Draco’s signature within the next few months regardless of Draco’s feelings towards it. At least his parents were going to let him provide some input on who would be his future wife -- as long as she met that one, non-negotiable requirement, of course.

His stomach grumbled even louder than before, and he couldn’t postpone lunch any longer. His foul mood back in full force, he Apparated home, ready to finally appease his ravenous stomach. But when Draco landed in the sitting room, his father was already there, awaiting his return. Great. The last person Draco wanted to confront right now.

Lucius sat carefully poised in an ornate armchair with one of his ankles rested on top of the opposite knee, a teacup in his hand, and a displeased expression on his face. Before him laid a massive stack of parcels. Lucius blew on his still steaming cup of tea. “Care to explain,” he snarled, gesturing to the evidence of Draco’s shopping spree.

Draco took one look at the pile and his grimace deepened. “No. Not really.”

Without any further statement, Draco proceeded into the dining room, ignoring the fuming look of his father as he left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm excited to share another new chapter! Thank you again to everyone who is reading this so far. Every single kudos and comment means so much to me. You honestly have no idea.
> 
> On another note, there's going to be a bit longer of a wait for the next chapter after this one. I'm about to head off on vacation and won't have much internet access, so I won't be posting until I'm back. But I promise to post as soon as I return!
> 
> Until then xx

Draco laid sprawled across one of the lounge chairs in the Manor’s library, staring blankly up at the elaborately painted ceiling. It couldn’t be much past eleven in the morning, but he was already bored out of his mind. Breakfast had been better than the day before, but that was an incredibly low bar to set. Each one of the Malfoys had sat there in silence, Draco eying his father carefully as he flipped through the paper, fearful that there might be some mention of his run-in with Hermione the day before. When Lucius reached the final page, Draco let out a discreet sigh of relief. It seemed as if he had managed to dodge that curse. He ought to be more careful than to be traipsing across Diagon Alley with her like that. The last thing Draco needed right now was another reason for his father to be upset, and being caught associating with a Muggle-born, especially this particular witch, would incite his father like no other.

But fortunately, breakfast had passed without major incident, and now Draco had the rest of the day to himself until his presence was required at dinner. Only problem was, he had no clue how to spend it. After so many countless weeks and months stuck within the confines of Malfoy Manor, he had run out of ways to pass the time. Even now that they had broken their self-imposed house arrest, he didn’t know what he would want to do outside of those walls either.

One would think that testing out the just-released racing broom he had purchased the day before would be an enticing way to pass the hours, letting the gentle breeze blow through his hair as he soaked in the final rays of sun before fall fully kicked in, but the thought of playing Quidditch all alone for the thousandth day in a row was horribly unappealing. There were only so many times a man could chase a Snitch before it lost any ounce of excitement it had once held. It was no fun when there was no competition.

About a year ago, Draco had gotten so desperate for a partner, he had considered trying to teach a house-elf how to fly a broom just to give him something to do, but he quickly reconsidered. He could only imagine the dismay on his father’s face if he had seen such a preposterous scene. So he forfeited the idea. It wasn’t as if any of the house-elves would have been able to give him any sort of challenge, but at least it would have been _something_.

The boredom was going to drive him mad if he didn’t come up with something to do other than just lay around doing nothing. He had wandered into the library, hoping one of the books would pique his interest, but reading was just as unappetising as everything else inside the Manor. The mahogany bookshelves must have contained thousands of books, of which Draco must have read ninety per cent of at this point, and those that he hadn’t read yet, he had no intention of ever entertaining.

It was when he had run out of books to read that he had ultimately decided to write one himself. He supposed he could do the same again, although inspiration wasn’t hitting him. The first book was easy -- just write about his life during the war. Everyone wanted to read that, and it had given him the much-needed opportunity to reflect on everything that had occurred. But what would he write about now? The trials and tribulations of a young man in his massive mansion with nothing to do? Oh sure, the wizarding world _really_ wanted to read about that.

Maybe his father was right and he should just get a “proper” job. At least it would give him something to do during the daylight hours. After all, everyone else his age was working during that time. It wasn’t his fault they weren’t as wealthy as him and needed a consistent income to survive. Hell, it didn’t even matter if you helped win a bloody war -- even Hermione Granger had to work.

Draco looked up at the old clock mounted on the wall, the pendulum swinging as the seconds slowly ticked on. Three of the hands on the clock pointed to where in the massive Manor each one of the Malfoys was, but the other two still told the time. Why any clock was designed not to tell time was beyond Draco, but that sounded like someone else’s problem. The hour hand was nearly at the twelve, and Draco finally had an idea of what to do that day.

He pushed himself off the uncomfortable cushion and made his way to a distant corner of the library that he hadn’t frequented in years. The books on these shelves were dusty, not having been touched in a solid ten years, but glossing over the titles on their spines made Draco smile at the memory of reading them. He grabbed his three favourites, and after checking the clock to make sure that his parents were far away from the library so they wouldn’t hear the distinct cracking noise, he Disapparated.

Seconds later, Draco landed outside the brick building, the books safely cradled under his arm. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long.

“Three days in a row?” Hermione greeted him as she stepped out onto Diagon Alley from her office building. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

He couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but it was bloody good to see her again. The past twenty-four hours, he had been stuck wallowing around the Manor as he avoided his father as much as possible, but the instant he saw her, all that faded into the distant crevices of his mind.

She joined him on the pavement, and he stretched out his books for her to see. “I figured I could just owl you my recommendation list like you said, but what good’s a list if you don’t have a physical copy to read?”

Hermione took the books in her hand and started to look them over. “Thank you,” she said, skimming the back of the first book. “I’ll have to read them this weekend.”

“No need to rush through them so quickly,” Draco said with a taunting smile. “Not all books can be as captivating as mine, so these might take you a bit longer.”

He chuckled as she peered up from the back cover to give him a sharp glare before wedging the books into her bag. As she did, another wizard came out of her building, nearly bumping into them as he joined the lunch hour crowd.

Suddenly, Draco stood pin straight, much more aware of his surroundings. Here he was again, standing in the middle of Diagon Alley at peak traffic, talking _publicly_ with Hermione Granger. They needed to get out of there before word got back to his father. Even if there weren’t any _Prophet_ photographers, he still couldn’t risk someone telling someone who told someone who ultimately got him in a world of trouble.

“Why don’t you show me your office?” Draco suggested, taking the stairs two at a time towards the building’s front door, but Hermione remained firmly in place.

“This is my lunch hour!” she countered. “I’m more than willing to give you the tour some other time, but right now, I need something to eat.”

Draco rushed back down the stairs. “Great, then let’s go someplace.”

“Well, there’s a place right over here, next to --”

“I know a better one.”

Before she could argue otherwise, Draco grabbed onto her hand, and he Apparated them to the farthest restaurant he could think of on the far opposite side of England.

The moment they landed safely on the pavement, Hermione yanked her hand away and glowered at him. “You can’t just Apparate people without their permission!” Hermione scolded. “I could have easily splinched!”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

Hermione frowned. “No, but that’s not my point!”

She continued to rant about how unsafe unauthorised Apparition was, but Draco tuned it out as he held the door open for her into the restaurant. He didn’t need a lecture from Hermione Granger to know that what he had done was dangerous, but he had needed to get out of Diagon Alley as quickly as possible. If he had included her in the decision-making process, they would have been stuck debating where to go for at least five minutes, giving hundreds of witches and wizards ample time to notice them together. Her temporary frustration with him was infinitely more preferable than the other potential outcome.

“This better be the best restaurant I’ve ever been to if we couldn’t just go to a place in Diagon Alley,” Hermione said as she took the seat Draco held out for her at one of the tables.

Draco rolled his eyes as he settled in the seat opposite her. Honestly, he couldn’t remember much about the place, but it wasn’t in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, so it was perfect for his purposes.

“I’m sure you’ll like it just fine,” he said as he glanced over the menu. “There’s a sufficient range of sandwiches, so there’s bound to be something that meets your standards.”

They read over the menu in silence, but it only took Draco about fifteen seconds to select his meal. He may be a man of good taste, but he was fairly consistent in what he found most delectable. Hermione, on the other hand, read the options so carefully, one would believe there was going to be an exam at the end on what ingredients came on each sandwich. How was it that the witch put that much effort into everything she did? It was just lunch!

Their waiter came and even after Draco gave his order, Hermione was still contemplating her decision.

“Oh, if it’s that difficult, just order whatever two sandwiches you’re stuck between!” Draco eventually said, growing rather tired of watching her finger waiver between two items. “It’s an extra, what, twenty-two Sickles?”

Hermione peered up from her menu. “That’s easy for you to say! Some of us don’t have vaults filled with gold to aimlessly toss away.”

“Yes, well, lucky for you, I do, so get whatever you want so we can get this order in already. I’m getting quite hungry.”

Hermione gave him a quick glare. “You’re not paying for me again, Malfoy.”

Draco rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, a grin stretching across his lips. “I thought we agreed that it’s _Draco_ now?”

Her glare turned more into a menacing stare, not appreciating Draco’s repurposing of her earlier complaint, but Draco merely laughed. Gods, she could be so predictable at times. Back at Hogwarts, it never failed to entertain him whenever he got a rise out of her. Nowadays, he only did it in good fun, still enjoying the little way her nose twitched and her eyebrows came together when she disapproved of something. It almost bordered on being cute.

“I’ll have the croque-monsieur,” she eventually settled, keeping her pointed gaze at Draco as she handed the menu to the waiter.

“You can’t be serious,” Draco said the moment the waiter left them alone.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What now?”

“How can you prefer a croque-monsieur over croque-madame!?”

“Are _you_ serious?” Hermione said in disbelief. “All that complaining about how long I was taking with my order and now you’re criticising my choice?”

“The fried egg is the best part!”

Hermione rolled her eyes once more and shook her head. “Then it’s a good thing that’s what _I_ ordered and not you! If you think croque-madames are so superior, I’ll be more than willing to call the waiter back over here so you can change your order.”

“Dear Merlin, don’t you dare do that,” Draco dismissed. “All I want right now is for our meals to come relatively soon.”

Hermione tilted her head, a teasing smirk starting to appear. “If that was your priority, I know a great place on Diagon Alley that has much faster service. In fact, it’s right next to my office. But _someone_ decided --”

“Oh, just drop it already,” Draco said. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “We’re here, we’ve ordered, and soon we’ll have our lunch.” He paused as he took a brief sip from his water glass. “I believe I promised you a Q and A session, and judging the time, you have around forty-three minutes before you have to be back at work. Let’s see who wins, the clock or Hermione Granger’s insatiable curiosity?”

“I assure you that forty-three minutes will just begin to cover my questions,” she said, dipping down under the table.

Draco lifted himself out of his seat to see what exactly she was doing, but it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. A few seconds later, she pulled a two-foot long parchment out of her bag, its entire length filled with questions.

“You _actually_ wrote them down?”

“I have a lot of questions!” Hermione defended.

Draco leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I believe that’s considered cheating.”

“No, it’s considered careful preparation.”

Draco scoffed, but a small smile briefly appeared. “I guess I’ll allow it. Well, go ahead. What’s your first question?”

Hermione rested the parchment on the table and let her finger wander down the length of the parchment as she internally debated which question to ask. Draco released a short laugh to himself. She was quite terrible at making quick decisions. It was as if every single option needed to be weighed equally in order to produce the best results. It couldn’t just be a simple selection of which sandwich to eat or which question to ask. It had to be the _best_ one.

“Okay,” she announced, seeming to have come to a consensus in her mind. She pushed the parchment to the side and rested her elbows on the table. “Why did you write the book?”

Draco shrugged. “I was bored.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow in dismay. “You can’t just provide short answers to speed through my questions!” she criticised. “ _That’s_ cheating.”

“No, it’s strategy.”

There was that expression on her face again! The one in which her lips pressed together into a tight scowl, her gaze grew dark and threatening, and she appeared ready to pull out her wand at any moment. That very look had probably intimidated Weasley and Potter to do a whole slew of things back at Hogwarts, but it merely amused Draco. If she was really going to hex him, she would have done it already. And besides, doing so would only prevent her from getting the answers she craved.

“Fine, fine,” Draco surrendered, chuckling to himself as he did. After all, he did promise to answer her questions, and he would play fair for once. “As you know, my family had laid low the past few years while everything settled after the war. The Manor may be large and exquisite, but it was never the most joyful or entertaining of places, especially after the Dark Lord used it as his headquarters.

“We spent the first few months renovating the place, trying to make it feel like home again, but after that was all finished, there wasn’t much else to do. The war was still fresh on my mind, and even after all the changes, memories of what had happened there still regularly haunted me. It was like I could still hear his voice whispering down the corridors wherever I went. I thought that writing down what happened would potentially help squash them.”

He wasn’t entirely certain why he was being so openly honest with her, but she had read his book, so it wasn’t as if he was giving her entirely new information. As he spoke, Hermione nodded along, paying just as much attention to him as she had to their professors. Hell, he half expected her to get out a blank piece of parchment and start taking notes.

When he finished with his response, she didn’t bother to look at her parchment for the follow-up.

“But what else did you do while you were in the Manor?” she asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “What? Is writing a book not enough for you?”

“I mean, obviously that took up a major portion of your time, but surely you didn’t spend every waking hour scribbling away on parchment.”

“And why do you care?”

It was Hermione’s turn to shrug. “I’m simply curious. The book told me plenty about what happened during the war, but not much about what happened since.”

“That’s because not much _did_ happen,” Draco explained.

“I find that hard to believe,” Hermione contended. “After all, something significant must have happened if you and I are friends now.”

Draco nearly choked on the sip of water that he had been taking between questions. Since when had he and Hermione Granger become _friends_? Sure, he had seen her the past three days, but that didn’t justify the use of the term! They had known each other for over a decade, and while he hadn’t seen her in a few years, it wasn’t as if that passage of time had miraculously erased all the bad blood that had flowed between them prior to that.

Yet despite his protests, Draco found that he didn’t actually hate the fact that she had referred to them as friends. He had been bored out of his mind that morning, and the only thing that had pulled him out of his slump was grabbing lunch with her.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t had someone to call a friend in a while, and those he had, had fallen more along of the lines of henchmen than mate. Crabbe and Goyle had served Draco’s purpose at the time, but he had never been entirely convinced that they knew how to string two coherent sentences together. As for Pansy, he never bothered to use her lips for conversational purposes, fully aware that any words that came out of her mouth would be both vapid and dull, ruining any sort of attraction he had to her to begin with. Perhaps Blaise was the closest thing he had to a proper mate, but they had hardly spoken much before sixth year, and Draco had since tried to block anything associated with his final two years at that school from his mind.

Compared to all that, spending time with Hermione was refreshing. Although it could just be that he had been cut off from his peers for so long, he would find anyone other than his parents a welcome companion. But then again, if he had realised one thing by writing his book and confirmed over the past few days, it was that Hermione Granger wasn’t the person he had so assumed her to be because of her blood status.

“Okay, fine,” Hermione huffed when Draco still hadn’t given her any more of a response. “I won’t wait forever when there are so many more things to ask.”

Hermione continued with her questioning for the better part of an hour, far after the waiter returned with their meals. Her questions came in such quick succession that Draco barely had time to chomp down a few bites of his lunch while she freely chewed away as she listened intently to his every word.

When he finished his response to what felt like the fiftieth question, Draco glanced down at his pocket watch. “It looks like you’re running out of time,” he announced. “Your lunch hour is almost up.” Draco removed the napkin from his lap and waved his hand in the air for the check.

“We can’t leave yet,” Hermione said as the waiter placed the bill on their table. “I still have one final question!”

Draco cocked his head. “I highly doubt you only have one more.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, folding her arms across her chest. “One more _for now,_ and I want an honest answer.”

Draco leaned back in his chair. “Fire away,” he said, motioning his arm for her to proceed. He supposed he could entertain her inquisitive nature for another minute or so.

“Why did you lie in the book?”

Draco stiffened his back and narrowed his eyes. “And what makes you think I _lied_ in my book?” he sternly asked, masking the pit that was starting to form in his stomach.

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out his book. Did she just carry it around with her wherever she went nowadays? There was a piece of parchment sticking out from the top of the book, and she opened to that page and started to read.

_“The three prisoners were thrown to the ground before me, Fenrir Greyback prowling behind them like a wolf protecting his freshly hunted prey. Upon first look, I knew they couldn’t be much older than myself and must therefore be current Hogwarts students on the run or relatively recent graduates, but their clothes were so dirty and their faces so bruised, that they didn’t look like anyone I had seen before. I stood there in stern concentration as my father pressed my face up to the black haired prisoner, urging me to identify the man. His features were so distorted that I doubted even his own mother would recognise him -- that is if she was still alive. But as much as I searched for the lightning scar on his forehead, none was to be found. I could not be certain the man before me was, in fact, Undesirable Number One himself, Harry Potter.”_

Draco could feel his pulse quicken as she reiterated the words of the scene he had spent weeks deliberating over. How many times had he written about that fated day in the drawing room, only to then discard the draft and start again?

“I know you’re lying here, Draco.”

He had opened his mouth, ready to defend the words published on the page, but the soft way she said his name made him reconsider. As much as it didn’t bother him when she referred to him by his last name, he quite liked the sound of his given name coming off her tongue.

“Everything else in the book holds up, but this moment here…” Her voice trailed away as she shook her head. “I know you recognised us.”

She knew. Of course she knew. She had been there. She had seen it all happen. And she wasn’t foolish enough to believe otherwise.

“Of course I bloody well recognised you,” he said in no more than a whisper. “You three showed up, and who else would it be other than you, Potter, and Weasel-face?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Hermione warned.

“Fine,” Draco corrected, albeit a bit unwillingly. “You, Potter, and _Weasley_. You’re one thing, but there’s a fat chance you’ll ever convince me to call either of those two by their first names.” She could argue with him all she wanted, but some last names were meant to be used exclusively.

Hermione sighed. “Yes, I know, you still don’t like them, but that doesn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you say in your book that you knew it was Harry?”

Draco took in a deep breath and let his shoulder rest on the chair’s back. He hesitated to answer, Hermione waiting silently for his response. He had been honest with her about everything else so far, so there wasn’t any use trying to keeping up this facade when she already knew the truth.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he drew in another breath. “You realise what I risked by lying that day?” he said, his voice low and even. “If I had told them it was Potter, right now, I’d be living in a world in which the Dark Lord was crowned triumphant, my father would be back inside his inner circle, and you and your friends would be six feet under. But that’s not our reality, all because I said _I don’t know_ instead of yes.”

Hermione swallowed. There was no way she wasn’t smart enough to have already figured that much out for herself, but hearing him say it must have been another thing entirely.

“But isn’t that a good thing?” she cautioned. “Don’t you want the world to know what you did?”

Draco shook his head. There was so much she didn’t understand.

“The world already knows that my mother lied to the Dark Lord in order to save Potter, and my parents lost enough friends as a result of that,” he started to explain. He looked down at his hands, watching his thumb brush over his knuckles. “But at that point in the battle, my parents were willing to do anything to make sure I was safe, so they considered it worth the consequences. But that wouldn’t have been necessary if I had turned you three in.”

He paused to look up at Hermione who was studying him carefully, probably over-analysing each one of his actions. He only let his gaze linger on her for a moment before he reverted to the repeated motion of his thumb.

“Yes, I lied in my book, but I swear that everything else in there is nothing but the truth,” Draco said, his voice starting to regain its strength. “I don’t have to explain to you the significance of that day and the lasting effect it had on the outcome of the war.”

Her fingers instinctively brushed over the faded scar that was still visible on her neck, but she quickly drew it away and returned it to her lap.

Draco opted to carry on, pretending not to notice. “My parents probably suspect it, but they don’t know for sure that I lied that day, and I don’t intend to ever confirm it. And on top of that, if the rest of the pureblood community ever discovered that I, too, had lied to the Dark Lord, the Malfoy family would lose what little social standing we have left with them.”

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” she mustered.

Draco straightened himself out and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I don’t exactly either, but my parents still care about this, and seeing they were willing to risk it all to make sure I made it out of the battle alive, the least I could do was not tarnish what little they had left.” Hermione opened her mouth to interrupt, but Draco continued. “Look, I very well know that you don’t like them, and while I may not always agree with my father, he is and forever will be the only father I have. Believe it or not, I still care for him even if I spend the majority of my day cursing half the things he does.”

He paused, letting his final words sink in. He arched an eyebrow at Hermione when she didn’t immediately respond. “Satisfied?”

Hermione shifted in her seat. “Somewhat.”

Draco took in a final breath and peered down at his pocket watch once more. She was going to be late returning to work now. Draco would almost feel guilty, but it was her own fault for leaving such a loaded question for last.

“Look, you need to get back to work, and…” He reached across the table for the parchment rested on the table, his eyes growing wide as they scanned it over. “Merlin, woman! How many bloody questions do you have?”

“It had been a few years since I had seen you!” she defended. “The book barely covered all the things I’ve wanted to ask you all those years!”

A small smirk found its way across his lips. “Thought about me a lot while I was gone, have you?”

“Don’t you start trying to read anything into this,” she quickly dismissed. “It’s just that you were off the radar for so long, I naturally was curious what was going on inside your brain.”

“Oh, I’m _sure_ ,” Draco teased, but then stopped, scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion. “Wait. Off the… what’s a radar?”

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. “Muggle expression. Sometimes they still slip out.”

Draco considered commenting further, surprisingly curious to learn whatever a ‘radar’ was, but her time was now far overspent. “Well, regardless, you need to get going, and I can’t believe I’m volunteering to do this, but I’m going to write out my responses to the rest of your questions. I’ll have your answers for you Monday afternoon when we grab lunch.”

“Who said we’re getting lunch on Monday?” Hermione countered.

Draco laughed. “I am, because I know you, and you won’t rest until you have the answers you want. And besides, I have an inkling you’ll want someone to discuss those books with after you spend all weekend reading them. Now get back to work before they notice you’re late!”

Hermione had only made it a single step towards the door when she looked back at the table.

“Wait, but we need to --”

“I’ll settle the bill,” Draco assured her.

Hermione frowned and reached into her bag. “No, Draco. I said I wouldn’t let you --”

“For the love of all things magic! Get out of here! I’ll let you pay for Monday’s meal if it makes you feel better!”

“You better!” Hermione responded as she scrambled out the door.

Draco dug into his pocket, fishing out a few Galleons to leave on the table, as he watched her Apparate away from beyond the window. An hour wasn’t enough time with her if she was going to squander it by going over things that happened in the past. He’d already written an entire book on the subject. He was ready to move on.

He glanced over her parchment and then rolled it up so that it was easier for him to carry. Hopefully if he answered these questions, she’d be satisfied, and they could finally talk about something else. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect and handwriting his responses, but he could probably enchant a quill to scribe it for him. Besides, it wasn’t like he had any better plans for the weekend.

For a brief second, he wondered what she’d be doing on her days off from work. Would she really spend all weekend reading the books he recommended? They may be for children, but three full-length novels still required a considerable time to get through, regardless of their age of interest. Or maybe she’d be off gallivanting with Potter and Weasley, doing something with her other friends.

_Other friends._ Because she somehow considered him to be one of her friends.

Draco snorted to himself and a small smile crept its way across his lips as he exited the restaurant. It was going to be another long, boring weekend, but at least he’d see her again on Monday.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! Thank you for your patience between these two chapters. Next chapter will be out Thursday to compensate for the wait. And another thank you to everyone who left a comment last chapter. They were lovely to come back to! On another note, I'll be at LeakyCon next weekend if anyone reading will be there! 
> 
> Until next time xx

The crisp, fall air breezed through Hermione’s hair as she gripped her jumper tighter around her torso. It was significantly cooler at the Burrow than it was in London, and yet, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and George still insisted on playing two on two Quidditch against each other in the open elements. They had begged her to join them for the friendly competition, and on another occasion, Hermione may have considered accepting, but she wasn’t interested today. Besides, if she joined, the teams would be uneven -- not that she would have been that much help to whoever’s team she ended up on.

But instead, Hermione sat on the sidelines like she preferred, only half paying attention to the game. She kept her nose down as her eyes carefully scanned the lines of the chapter that she was reading for the third time that day.

A broom whizzed past her, and Hermione’s head snapped up at the sudden interruption, Ron continuing to play as if he hadn’t just come within inches of knocking her out. The game was in full force, the former Gryffindor players thoroughly enjoying their Saturday afternoon. Ginny bumped into George who slammed into her in return but not before she managed to throw the Quaffle to Harry. He easily tossed it through one of the goalposts, earning him and Ginny a point. Ron let out a groan while Ginny zipped her broom around in celebration, stopping in the middle of the playing field to give Harry a high five.

“You see that pass?” Ginny shouted down to Hermione.

“Very nicely done!” she cried back before returning to her book.

The game continued for at least thirty more minutes until Molly called for George and Ginny to help her with the final dinner preparations. They tried to bargain for a few more minutes of play, but even though all the Weasley children were full grown adults at this point, they still promptly followed directions as soon as they got any sort of indication that Molly had reached her limit. They all landed on the grass below them, Ginny dragging her broom across the ground as she made her way to the kitchen.

“Guess I’m lucky you two are here,” Ron said as George closed the back door behind him. “Otherwise I’d probably get roped into helping out as well.”

Hermione mindlessly nodded along, her focus still on the book. “Have either of you two read this?” she asked now that the three of them were alone.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Hermione,” Harry said.

Hermione closed the book so they could see the cover. “Malfoy’s memoir.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. She didn’t know why she had bothered. She knew the answer way before she asked it; Ron’s reaction merely confirmed her assumption.

“ _That’s_ what you’ve been reading all afternoon?” he asked in disbelief. “Of course we haven’t read it! Why would we want to read about anything, let alone the war, from Ferret Face’s perspective?”

For as much as Ron and Draco notoriously disagreed about everything, their insults for one another were surprisingly similar.

“It’s actually quite interesting,” Hermione said, trying to engage them further. “Just because we were on the winning side of the war, doesn’t mean we can’t learn valuable things by reading about it from their side. Winston Churchill said that ‘History is written by the victors,’ and I believe --”

“Look, Hermione,” Harry said, clearly not in the mood for a long-winded lecture. “I’m not saying that there isn’t stuff to be learned by thinking about the war from their perspective, but this is _Malfoy_ we’re talking about. You know he’s just going to twist the words to make him sound better.”

“But that’s the thing,” Hermione tried to reason with them, refusing to drop the subject until they heard her out. “He really doesn’t distort it. There are several instances in which he admits to doing some terrible things, and he’s overall quite honest. The only time he lied is when he contends that he didn’t recognising you that day in Malfoy Manor when we all know that isn’t true. It would change a lot of people’s opinions about him if they knew what he had done! So doesn’t that prove that he’s not just doing this to make him look good?”

Ron wiped some of the lingering sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “C’mon, Hermione,” he said. “You know the bloke. Malfoy’s not that deep. He was just scared. Doesn’t mean we should share our Order of Merlins with him because he managed to do something not completely terrible for once.”

Hermione shook her head back and forth. “You don’t understand. Something’s different about him nowadays.”

Ron chuckled and elbowed Harry in the side. “Yeah, he doesn’t have his two cronies to boss around all the time.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly, she loved Harry and Ron to death, and they’d always be her two closest friends in the world, but it could get so tiresome when they wouldn’t at least _try_ to see things from a different perspective.

“Look,” she said more firmly, hoping they’d take the hint that she was serious. “Something about him is sincerely different now. I don’t know what all happened in Malfoy Manor the past few years, but I can tell you that he’s… Well, I don’t know how to word it exactly, but he’s actually relatively nice to me.”

Ron and Harry shared a confused expression.

“Hold up,” Ron said, evidently processing what Hermione had just said. “What do you mean he’s _nice_ to you? Have you seen him recently or something?”

Hermione shrugged. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we’ve hung out a few times.”

Their confused expressions shifted into shock, dumbfounded to learn that Hermione had spoken to Draco at all, let alone done so repeatedly.

“Hermione, I know he and his family got pardoned and all, but they still used to be Death Eaters,” Harry tried to rationalise.

“Used to?” Ron interjected. “If given the option, I’m fairly certain good old pop would more than willingly hop back on that Knight Bus straight to hell.”

“We’re talking about Malfoy, not his father,” Hermione hissed, her frustration growing evident. For a moment, she considered using his first name like she had grown rather accustomed to using the past few days, but she figured it would only make Harry and Ron more sceptical of the situation.

“I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that you’ve hung out with _Malfoy_ ,” Harry stepped in before things got too heated between her and Ron. “I know Ron and I are busy with work and stuff, but I didn’t think you’d be _that_ desperate for friends! I mean, you still got Crookshanks, right?”

Hermione gave Harry a sharp look, ready to scold him for even _joking_ that Crookshanks was her only option outside the pair of them, when Molly stuck her head out calling them in for dinner. Hermione promptly held Malfoy’s book tighter to her chest and stormed into the kitchen where she convinced Ginny to switch seats with her so she wouldn’t have to sit next to either Ron or Harry. It would just be better to end this conversation before it could escalate much more. She should have known it would go this way. Of course they hadn’t read his book, and had no intention of ever doing so! Sometimes they could be so stuck in their biases!

But in the end, their opinion on the matter hardly mattered. Just because they were too dense to at least _try_ to see how he had grown, didn’t mean it needed to affect her decisions. By no means was she saying the Draco was suddenly a perfect person -- he certainly still managed to irritate her from time to time -- but as a whole, she quite enjoyed his company. And if she enjoyed the other two books even half as much as she enjoyed the first book he recommended to her, then they were bound to have another quality lunch on Monday.

~*~*~

Draco slipped the final button through the top loop of the collar on his dress robes. It was Saturday evening at the Manor, which meant he was expected to dress up for dinner with his parents. He never quite understood why his mother insisted on such an absurd tradition -- it wasn’t as if anyone other than his parents were going to be in attendance -- but then again, ‘tradition’ might as well be the Malfoy family mantra at this point. 

He stepped into the formal dining room where Lucius and Narcissa sat opposite on ends of the table, both of them clad in their finest robes. Draco withheld a scoff as he took his seat in the middle of the elongated table, several empty seats between him and either parent. Another ridiculous tradition. What was the point of sitting so far away from each other? Wouldn’t it just be easier if they congregated at one end of the table? His father could remain at the head of the table if it meant that bloody much to him, and Draco and his mother could sit on either side. Isn’t that what a _normal_ family would do?

But _no_. This was tradition. This is how it was _always_ done. And therefore, that’s how the Malfoys would do it.

The first course appeared on their plates and Draco silently picked at his salad while his mother and father discussed the events of the day. His ears perked up when he heard his mother mention that she had met an old friend on Diagon Alley for lunch, but his beating heart settled when he remembered that it was a Saturday so his recent lunchtime activities were still safe and secret.

He would have much preferred if he had been the one having lunch on Diagon Alley that afternoon, but at least his Saturday hadn’t turned out to be as dull as he had predicted. His typical morning routine had been the same, but once breakfast had concluded, he returned to his room where Hermione’s parchment laid locked inside a drawer of his desk. His parents hardly ever bothered to visit his wing of the Manor, but he figured he better keep it somewhere secure just in case circumstances changed for whatever reason.

Alone in the safety of his room, Draco pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and a Self-Writing Quill and charmed it to start. Draco paced across the room as he began to dictate his answers to Hermione’s endless stream of questions. It was easy to talk on end, not worrying about how much time he was taking in fear that it would eat away at the only hour he managed to get with her. And she certainly wouldn’t mind his lengthy responses. If she managed to read his whole book in less than a day, she could easily handle a few feet of parchment.

By the time his answers were complete and Draco had sufficiently reviewed what the quill had transcribed, he headed into the library, back to the distant corner of his youth. It had been over a decade since he had read _The Perilous Adventures of Bartimous the Brave_ or a single book in the _Ghastly Ghouls and Haunting Hags_ series, but after his conversation with Hermione, he was feeling unusually nostalgic and was itching to dive back into the pages that had brought him so much joy when he was younger.

He spent nearly all afternoon revisiting the stories that had kept him so engaged as a child, and while he still thoroughly enjoyed them, some of the naive excitement was gone. Maybe he was being too cynical as a result of the war, but now he saw the novels for what they were -- simplistic children’s stories. Ghouls and hags weren’t nearly as frightening when he had come face to face with a real monster, and Bartimous’ supposed bravery was nothing compared to the real courage he had witnessed other witches and wizards his age exemplify.

A tapping on the window drew Draco out of his thoughts and back to the formal dining room.

“I wonder what that could be,” Narcissa said with a knowing smile as she popped out of her seat.

Draco dropped his head into his hands and groaned. They all knew _exactly_ what it was. The same thing had happened at dinner the night before.

Narcissa opened the window, and a small scops owl landed on the sill and proudly dropped the letter that he held within his beak. Narcissa gave the owl a curt appreciative nod before the owl turned around and flapped its wings into the night sky.

“Who’s it from?” Lucius asked when his wife returned to the table and had already begun to read its contents.

“It’s from the Fawley family,” Narcissa announced with a pleased expression. “Their daughter Helena recently turned of age.”

Draco did his best to stifle another groan. As expected, it was a proposition letter. He didn’t know much about Helena Fawley except for the fact that she was a few years below him in Ravenclaw and that she was pureblood, but he would still wager that she was his best prospect so far. Almost anyone was an improvement over Pansy -- except for Millicent Bulstrode. He would _not_ be marrying Millicent Bulstrode!

“The Fawleys,” Lucius drawled, considering the familial name. “A solid bloodline, although I don’t know the father very well.”

“That’s because her father wasn’t a Death Eater,” Draco grumbled before he could catch himself.

Both Narcissa and Lucius’s heads snapped in his direction, and suddenly Draco was quite grateful that they weren’t the type of family that sat next to each other at the table.

“Care to say that louder?” Lucius sneered.

Draco hung his head to mask his snarl. “No, Father,” Draco immediately backtracked.

Lucius turned away from his son. “That’s what I thought.”

The tension lingered in the air as Narcissa read the rest of the letter and Draco and Lucius returned to the first course. Draco pierced his fork through a tomato and tore a bite through it. Family dinners were always _such_ a joy.

“Well, this Fawley girl seems like a perfectly respectable option,” Narcissa said, finally breaking the silence. “It says here that Helena was named prefect of Ravenclaw and graduated with good enough N.E.W.T. marks. She’s currently training to be a Healer at St. Mungo’s.”

“Now _that’s_ a proper job,” Lucius said, directing his gaze once more upon his son, as if willing him to fire back some sort of retort.

Draco’s upper lip twitched, the words on the tip of his tongue just itching to slip out, but he swallowed them, leaving nothing but the taste of dissatisfaction in his mouth.

“At least she is a much more acceptable choice than those first two,” Narcissa said, trying to suppress the obvious friction between the two males. “While she may not be your first choice, Draco, it has only been a few days. If my suspicions are correct, this letter is a sign that word is starting to spread that you are looking for a wife. I can all but assure you that by this time Tuesday, you’ll have at least ten more letters.”

Oh, good. So then he’d have _thirteen_ women to choose between. Unlucky him.

Narcissa arose from her chair and placed Helena Fawley’s letter inside a jewelled box where Pansy and Millicent’s letters already rested inside. Those letters could keep stacking up, but he doubted any of those girls would ever truly strike his fancy.

~*~*~

Hermione pulled back the bedspread and settled into the broken-in spare bed in Ginny’s childhood bedroom. Every time Hermione visited, Molly still insisted that she stay over, citing that she would always be as good as family even though she and Ron had gone their separate ways. Hermione understood how quiet the Burrow must feel now that all the Weasley children had long since graduated from Hogwarts and dispersed throughout the country. The least Hermione could do was spend the night every once and awhile. Besides, waking up to Molly’s pancakes was never a bad way to start a Sunday.

Things had calmed down since her tiff with Ron and Harry. While neither one of them had shown any sign of apology, the three of them had mutually agreed to move past it. Back at Hogwarts, a disagreement like that would have likely prompted a two-week silent treatment from her, but she had long since learned not to react so rashly. She had also finally learned to accept that she couldn’t control every aspect of their lives, and sometimes they were just going to be flat out wrong about things.

She leaned back against her pillow and pulled out the second book Draco had lent her, trying to get a few more pages in before Ginny came back from brushing her teeth. The first book had been thoroughly enjoyable, a historical fiction piece set in the early 1500s about a young wizard who was accused of setting the local Cathedral on fire after a Muggle had caught him with his wand, thinking it to be kindling when really he had been trying to use it to put out the flames. She had rushed through it the night before, completely immersed in the drama and suspense of whether or not he would be found innocent (which thankfully, he was). The second book was much different, focusing on a more modern plot of a young wizard who found a wounded niffler near his home and began taking care of it in hopes that one day his parents would let him keep it as a pet. It was a heartwarming tale, and while she couldn’t help but note how terrible of an idea a pet niffler would actually be, she still hoped the boy would ultimately have his happy ending.

She had only gotten a few paragraphs in when there was a knock on her door and a ginger head peeked it’s way inside, except it wasn’t Ginny.

“Hey,” Ron said softly, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Mind if I stay here for a bit? Ginny decided to stop by my room, and one thing led to another, and now I’m --”

“Sexiled?” Hermione completed with a smile.

Ron groaned as he sat down at the foot of her bed. “Please never use that word again. It’s weird enough as is that he’s dating my sister.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s time you get over that. They’ve been dating for several years at this point.”

“Yeah, but she’s been my little sister my entire life!”

They shared a quick laugh, and then he noticed the book on her lap. “Is that _Roger’s Golden Secret_?” Ron asked. He reached across the bed and began to look it over with a wide grin. “I remember this book!”

Hermione sat up in bed, mildly surprised that Ron recognised the title. “Have you read it?”

Ron chuckled. “Well, sort of. Mum read a chapter a night to me, Ginny, Fred, and George back when we were the only lot left around here. Although Mum must not have thought through her choice in book too much cause right after we finished it, Fred and George thought it would be funny to try to trick Mum into thinking they had a different magical creature hidden somewhere in the gardens. They really tried to sell her on it, coming back all muddied with scratches up and down their arms.”

“That does sound like something they’d do,” Hermione laughed along.

“Oh, yeah,” Ron said. “Of course, Mum wasn’t a big fan of it. She’d scold them and tell them to knock it off already, but I think she secretly feared that one day they wouldn’t be joking anymore.” He smiled at the memory. “But that had to be back when I was no more than eight. So what are you doing reading it as an adult?”

“I’m trying to brush up on wizarding children’s literature for work,” Hermione explained. “We’re working on compiling Muggle book recommendations for young children, so I thought it would be beneficial to have a background in these books as well.”

Ron nodded. “Fair enough. Although, I suppose I really shouldn’t be complaining about whatever it is you’re reading. I’m just glad it’s no longer Malfoy's book!”

Hermione’s smile disappeared as she straightened herself up even further, their disagreement from earlier coming back to her. “I’ll have you know that he’s the one who recommended this book to me,” she said bluntly. “This is even his copy.”

“Blimey, Hermione!” Ron cried, instantly dropping the book from his hands. “Warn a guy next time!”

“It’s just a book, Ron,” she said disapprovingly. “It’s not going to hurt you!”

“Tell that to Ginny,” Ron retorted.

Hermione glared at him. “Would you like to check it for dark jinxes or something?”

“Kinda!”

Her glare intensified, and Ron caved under the pressure of her stare. “Fine,” he surrendered, although he didn’t sound pleased about it. He pressed his fingers against his temple as he shook his head back and forth. “I just don’t get it. You’re really… _friends_ with him?”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, Ron. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, yeah!” he promptly responded. “Last I checked, we fought on opposite sides of a war!”

“I can assure you that I haven’t forgotten,” Hermione said, maintaining a calm and steady voice. Starting another fight wasn’t going to do them any favours. “But that’s why you ought to read his book. It gives a lot of insight into what he really felt during it and how he’s changed since then.”

Ron groaned and fell back onto the bed. “I’m just going to take your word for it,” he said with a sigh. He turned his head to face her, a resigned half-smile appearing. “I never was good at convincing you of anything, was I?”

Hermione snorted. “No, and you’re not going to change my mind on this either.”

The bedroom door swung open, and Ginny entered, her hair tousled and her lips slightly swollen.

“Well, it looks like I finally have my own bedroom back,” Ron said, staring disapprovingly at his sister.

“Oh, get over it,” Ginny said, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to straighten it out.

“Get over it!?” Ron cried. “It’s my bedroom! You two seriously couldn’t go _one_ night without…” His cheeks flared red. “Well, you know!”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Without what? Without me --”

“Hermione’s friends with Malfoy!” he interrupted, desperate for Ginny not to finish the sentence.

Ginny’s head snapped towards Hermione. “ _What?!_ ”

“Night!” Ron said as he quickly left the bedroom.

Ginny’s shocked, confused gaze lingered on Hermione.

“I can explain,” Hermione groaned, slamming one of the pillows against her face and leaning back onto the mattress. It was going to be a _long_ night.

~*~*~

Monday rolled around, and Draco paced back and forth across the length of his bedroom, counting down the minutes as noon drew nearer. He swore he could hear the ticking seconds taunting him from the watch that rested inside his trousers’ pocket. All morning, he had been squandering time, waiting for the minute and hour hands to finally collide at the twelve. And now, he only had a few more minutes to wait.

He pulled out his watch for the umpteeth time. 11:48 am. Still too early for him arrive. He didn’t want to seem overeager.

The seconds ticked on, and it had nearly reached an appropriate time for him to depart for Diagon Alley when his head snapped up at the sound of a knock on his door. It couldn’t be one of the house elves. Their small bodies couldn’t produce enough force to result in a knock that loud. And if it wasn’t a house elf, that didn’t leave may other options for who could be on the other side of that door. So that warranted the question -- what in Salazar’s name would prompt one of his parents to venture to his wing of the Manor?

His head turned to the two scrolls of parchment that laid waiting on his desk for him to bring to his lunch with Hermione. Quickly, he pulled out his wand and had just barely managed to vanish them when his door began to open.

“Afternoon, darling,” Narcissa cooed, permitting herself entry.

Draco tried hard not to gawk at the sight of his mother in his bedroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her in there. It must have been when he was still a child, back when she used to tuck him in and kiss him goodnight. But those practices had ended years ago.

His room must seem quite different to her nowadays, provided all the changes Draco had made since it had become his permanent residence upon graduation. The Quidditch pennants were long gone from the walls, and the deep green curtains and matching bedspread that he insisted upon as a child in hopes that he would be a Slytherin just like his beloved father had since been changed to a dark grey. But if Narcissa noticed, she didn’t comment.

“And to what do I owe the visit, Mother?” he said, trying to mask the anxiousness in his voice. He had been free all morning and yet she somehow chose _now_ to speak with him? Hermione would be expecting him any minute.

“I was thinking that you and I should do something this afternoon,” she said with a self-assured smile, one hand gently rested on top of the another near her waistline. “It’s been far too long since you and I have had a proper tea together.”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds fine,” he agreed, although she could have suggested that they spend the afternoon giving a Hippogriff a bath and he still would have been amenable. Whatever it took to get her out of there so he could get to his lunch already.

“Lovely,” Narcissa said. “Then I’ll go freshen up, and we’ll head to Rosa Lee in around fifteen minutes.”

Draco’s heart plummeted as his mother turned her back to him and started to head out. “Wait,” Draco called after her, his pulse starting to quicken. “What’s with the rush? Surely we can do later in the afternoon? Say... after one?” he stammered, doing his best to keep his voice level. “Besides, Rosa Lee is bound to be packed at this hour with all the witches and wizards on their lunch break.”

Narcissa politely laughed. “Of course, it will, dear, thus making it the prime time for you to be seen in public.” She raised an eyebrow. “That is unless you have _other_ plans for this afternoon?”

Draco kept his lips pressed together, knowing quite well he couldn’t answer the question honestly. His mind raced, trying to quickly create some other viable excuse for why they had to do it later, but he couldn’t think of anything even close to believable. Besides, he doubted it would do him much good anyhow. Her mind was already made up.

“Oh, and do wear those navy robes I got you last Christmas. They photograph better.”

Narcissa closed the door behind her as Draco made his way to his wardrobe and yanked her preferred robes off the hanger, trying not to picture Hermione’s dismay when he was a no-show.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday! As promised, here's the next chapter :) 
> 
> Thank you yet again to everyone who left comments. Every single one of them literally makes my day! And I know I already said this at the beginning of the story, but another huge thank you to lightofevolution who was a massive help with this chapter. 
> 
> Let's do this again some time. Say, next Thursday?

Hermione fluttered out of her office as the clock neared noon, taking Draco’s books with her as she prepared to make her way out of the building. She had thoroughly enjoyed all of them -- although the first book was far and beyond her favourite of the three. She must admit, Draco had good taste in books, even as a child.

“You’re in a particularly good mood today!” Gretchen said, noticing the wide smile on Hermione’s face as she closed her office door and stepped into the open space. “Did the numbers come back already?”

“No, we’re still waiting on them,” Hermione replied. “Just a lunch date is all.”

“Oooo!” Gretchen cooed. “Who’s the lucky man?”

“Oh, it’s not that kind of a date!” Hermione dismissed. “Just a lunch plan. A lunch...  _companion_. You know what I mean. _Not_  a date.” 

Gretchen pressed her lips together and nodded, but her eyes remained wide, not seeming to believe Hermione.

As a consequence of being her assistant, Gretchen knew more about Hermione’s personal life than most. She kept control of her schedule which meant she was well acquainted with Hermione’s propensity to work through lunch and stay late, barely giving her time for social engagements. It was quite rare that Hermione took her full hour for lunch, but having done so the past few days, Hermione had come to realise that she quite enjoyed the break in the middle of the work day. It gave her the opportunity to take her mind off things, even if just for a short period of time, and then she could return to the office refreshed and ready to power through whatever she needed to accomplish the rest of the day. It just so  _happened_  that the person that she was meeting with was a male.

“Anyway, he’s probably already outside waiting for me, so I should get going.”

“Sounds like a date to me!” Gretchen called after her.

“He’s just a friend!” Hermione cried as she swung open the door to the stairwell.

Honestly, it really wasn’t a big deal. Hermione’s closest friends had always been males. She had never quite gotten along with the other females of her year at Hogwarts, so it just made sense that she’d easily strike up another male friendship. They were just easier, no drama involved. And now she was off to have a perfectly casual lunch with a  _friend_.

~*~*~

Draco kept looking over his shoulder as he and his mother made their way down Diagon Alley towards Rosa Lee Teabag. According to his pocket watch, it was now eleven minutes past noon, and Hermione was without a doubt losing patience with him. There hadn’t been enough time for him to send an owl or even to stop by her office to warn her that he wasn’t going to be able to make it. And now, somewhere down the street behind him, Hermione was probably standing in front of her building, her arms crossed against her chest in frustration as she waited for him to show up. He’d have to settle for sending an apology owl after the fact; that was the best he could do at this point.

They arrived at the shop and Draco held the door open for Narcissa to enter. As expected, the tea shop was filled with witches and wizards grabbing a small bite during the middle of the work day. The tables were packed and the low buzzing of mindless chatter filler the air. Of course, the Malfoys didn’t have to wait to be seated. There was a table already reserved for them right in the front window -- the prime location for every witch and wizard to see him out with his mother. Leave it to Narcissa to have all this planned out and to not tell him until it was too late for him to stop it.

“You sit down, dear,” she instructed. “I need to check with the owner about something.”

He pulled back the chair and settled in the seat facing the door so that he could easily see everyone walking in. Ever since the war, he never felt comfortable leaving his back exposed in public spaces. Call it learned precaution. Things couldn’t attack him by surprise if he could see them coming.

He picked up one of the menus left on the table for his perusal and started to skim it over when the front doorbell chimed. His attention shifted towards the sound, his defensive instincts taking control, but he calmed when he recognised the familiar wild mass of brown hair that made its way through the door. For a second, his heart lifted at the sight of her, but immediately fell when he thought of the potential ramifications of her presence.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he grumbled under his breath, ducking behind the menu. As much as he wanted to, now was not the time or place for them to talk. His mother could not see them together! Merlin knew it would only result in an endless stream of questions as to what he was doing speaking with  _her_.

His leg bounced up and down at a rate that challenged the speed of his rapidly beating heart. The vase of flowers on the surface of the table rattled at the disturbance, causing a few of the surrounding patrons to look his way. Draco clamped his hands around the edge of the table, forcing the shaking to stop and then flashed a half-hearted apologetic smile to the glaring onlookers.

Of all the places on Diagon Alley, she chose here to dine after he stood her up?! Well, not that he stood her up  _exactly_. That was what you called it when someone failed to show up on a date, and what they had planned most certainly was  _not_  a date. They were merely two former enemies who casually got lunch on occasion. All they did was chat about their lives. That wasn’t a date; that was catching up… or hanging out… or something else along those lines. But regardless of what one called it, she could not see him there!

He peeked ever so slightly over the top of the menu. Thank Merlin. She was standing in the take-away line so he wouldn’t have to spend all tea dodging her. Just a few minutes more and she’d be out of there.

He shouldn’t have looked, though, because now he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked particularly nice that day, her work attire a step up from the usual, as if she had put in a little more effort that day. But his attention was quickly consumed by the sour expression on her face. Just as expected, she did not appear pleased, and he doubted that it was because the queue to order was taking too long. There was a grimace plastered on her face and her arms were crossed against her chest, her foot tapping impatiently. She could have just had a rough morning at work, but it was fairly safe to assume that something else had sparked her irritation.

Draco was just about to return to safety behind the menu when his vision caught sight of his books peeking out of her bag, little scraps of parchment sticking out from between the pages. As if Draco didn’t already feel bad enough about ditching their lunch plans, knowing that she was prepared to discuss the books only made him feel guiltier.

Hermione huffed at something and looked at her watch, then back towards the window. Her face deadpanned when her eyes connected with his.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

He had been so distracted by the bloody books that he lost sight of how critical it was that she not see him!

Abandoning her original purpose for coming to the shop, she moved furiously in his direction, an anger and fire in her eyes that made him scoot back in his chair. He’d only been on the receiving end of that glare once before, and he prayed that he would not have to experience another slap in the face in the middle of Rosa Lee Teabag. That would  _not_  be good publicity. Plus it would really hurt.

Defensive instincts taking control once more, Draco held his hands up in surrender before she could get too close.

“I can explain!” he stammered.

“Did we or did we not have lunch plans?” she fumed. “I waited  _fifteen minutes_ for you to show!”

“Something came up,” he tried to reason, but she evidently was in no mood to listen.

“You know, for some reason, I was actually looking  _forward_  to our lunch! But I guess I was the only one!”

She continued to rant at him, and Draco’s eyes only left hers when he caught a glimpse of his mother coming back from the owner’s backroom. Hermione had every right to berate him, and she could do that all she wanted, just not  _now_.

“I swear I’ll make it up to you,” he bargained, anything to make her stop. “Lunch. Tomorrow.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, her anger not diminishing. “And how do I know you won’t just ditch me again?”

Draco tipped his head in his mother’s direction. Hermione narrowed her eyes for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant, but eventually looked and recognised Narcissa.  When the witch caught sight of his mother, her expression neutralised, her clever mind probably able to deduce at least some of the negative implications of her presence.

“Lunch tomorrow. I’ll explain everything then,” Draco said, one final plea for her to leave before his mother returned.

“You better,” she snapped, her tone evening out but still maintaining its bitterness. “And you’re back to being the one paying.”

She hitched her bag up farther on her shoulder and stormed out of Rosa Lee’s just seconds before Narcissa returned to the table, Draco finally releasing the breath it felt like he had been holding for the past five minutes.

“What was the Granger girl doing talking with you?” Narcissa asked, her eyes following Hermione as she passed them on the opposite side of the window. “And switch seats with me, dear. I prefer the lighting on this side.”

Draco hesitated for a second, not enthralled with the notion of moving, but ultimately followed his mother’s direction. When it came to the Malfoy family, things were just easier if he obeyed his parents’ commands. He repositioned himself in his new seat, ignoring the prickling sensation that washed over him in this more vulnerable spot and instead focusing on creating a viable excuse for Hermione’s presence. “She was just complimenting my book, Mother,” he casually lied. “Said she finished it.”

“That didn’t look like a very pleasant conversation.”

“Yes, well, apparently she had some qualms about some of the ways I portrayed her,” he tried to justify, hoping that his mother wouldn’t find another flaw in his growing deceit.

“That’s curious. I thought your portrayal of her was rather…  _flattering…_  when you consider who she is.”

Draco bit his tongue to prevent himself from asking what exactly she meant by that comment. Because she’s Hermione Granger and she could be a bit of a know-it-all? Because she’s Hermione Granger and she was the brains behind every one of Potter’s plans that just so happened to work out for him? Or because she’s Hermione Granger and she is a  _mudblood_  and could never amount to anything more?

“Oh, look who just arrived!” Narcissa cooed, dropping their conversation. She raised a gentle hand in the air at whoever just walked through the door.

A shiver travelled down his spine. This is precisely why he preferred the other seat! Draco twisted his neck to determine whether or not he should be alarmed by the recent arrival and groaned. Suddenly everything was infinitely clearer. This wasn’t casual tea with his mother, and it wasn’t even a mere publicity stunt. No, it was something  _infinitely_  worse.

Narcissa stood up from her chair and kissed Eleanor Flint on both cheeks, her daughter Victoria, standing beside her.

“Eleanor, dear, it’s so lovely to see you again!” Narcissa said in her superficial voice. “Oh, and Victoria is here, too. Draco, you remember Victoria, don’t you?”

Draco feigned a smile as they proceeded with the pleasantries, all the while, his mind filled with the sound of a seemingly never-ending groan. He should have predicted that there would be more to his mother’s plan! All this was just an elaborate scheme to trick him into a date with someone of his parents’ approval.

“Oh, what a shame. We don’t have enough seats at the table for the four of us,” Narcissa said with painfully obvious fake sorrow.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was like his mother wasn’t even trying to be subtle. She could have easily asked the server to pull up two extra chairs or even conjure two more seats herself, but that would defeat her purpose, wouldn’t it?

“Why don’t you have my seat, Victoria, and your mother and I will sit elsewhere. I’m sure you and Draco have plenty to catch up about.”

Narcissa flashed them a pleasant smile and then proceeded with Eleanor to another table in the shop that _just so happened_  to be free during the middle of the day rush. How many Galleons had Narcissa promised the owner so that her little game could be played?

Not forgetting his manners, Draco stood up and pulled back the chair for Victoria to sit down across from him. He didn’t know Victoria well in school even though she was only a year below him in Slytherin, but he was well acquainted with her brother. Lucky for her, she was much easier on the eyes than her older sibling, not inheriting nearly as crooked teeth. Although, that could also be because she hadn’t been hit in the head so many times by a bludger.

As he returned to his seat, Draco looked down at the navy robes his mother had directed him to wear, claiming that they photographed better. Any second now, there was bound to be a  _Prophet_  report, cameraperson in tow, to document their tea. Leave it to his mother to try to expedite the arrival of proposition letters by announcing his eligibility to the entire world via a newspaper article.

A server arrived with a preselected arrangement of finger sandwiches and treats, undoubtedly another thing that his mother had coordinated. Draco picked one of the cucumber and mint sandwiches off the second tier and tore into it as Victoria started to speak. The less he had to talk, the better.

He ensured that their conversation was pleasant enough -- he’d never hear the end of it from his mother if he dared to act anything less than a proper gentleman -- but each time she opened her mouth, Draco wanted nothing more than to bang his head against the table. It was sincerely a miracle that this witch had managed to graduate from Hogwarts. Draco had always assumed that Flint had achieved low scores in his classes due to a lack of interest or too much time spent on the Quidditch pitch, but now Draco was convinced that it was merely bad genetics. Was it too much to ask that his parents at least  _try_  to match him up with someone with a decent head on her shoulders?

His parents could say all they wanted about Hermione’s blood-status, but at least she was able to hold a proper conversation. He had yet to be bored during a single one of their interactions. Maybe if they finished their pot of tea early -- Jasmine,  _Victoria’s_  choice -- then it wouldn’t be too late for Draco to squeeze in a few minutes with Hermione. Sure, she was probably still upset, but he had a hunch that if he got her talking about the books, she’d probably move past it quickly enough.

He smiled to himself remembering that in her rage, Hermione had confessed to looking forward to their lunch. Okay, so in the same breath she had also accused him of not feeling the same, but how was she to know that the promise of their luncheon had been the thing that had gotten him through the weekend?

Victoria laughed about something, and Draco feigned a matching smile. He really ought to be paying closer attention to whatever mindless nonsense she was going on about, but she had been off on her tangent for a few minutes now, and Draco hadn’t bothered to stop her. Granted, Hermione often fell into the same tendency, but at least he was interested in what she had to say.

“And what do you think about it?”

It took a few seconds for Draco to even process that she had asked him a question. He honestly had no idea what she was asking his opinion about, so he decided to play it safe. “Well, I find it rather interesting, but hearing you talk about it only makes it more so.”

A blushing smile crept up her cheeks. Some witches were predictably easy to please.

~*~*~

Hermione clamped onto her take-away bag from the Leaky Cauldron as she strolled back up Diagon Alley. Was she disappointed that she and Draco weren’t getting lunch that day? Of course. Had she spent a significant chunk of her weekend reading the books, even staying up later than usual to make sure that she finished in time? Perhaps.  Was she upset? That was harder to answer so simply.

When Hermione had initially spotted Draco in Rosa Lee, naturally, she had been furious.  How dare he not show up just to have lunch elsewhere on Diagon Alley!  But when she saw his mother, she forced herself to take a step back from the situation to think about it more rationally and calmly.  While she still wasn't pleased with the situation -- or with Draco, for that matter -- maybe there was more to the story that she didn't know. And if she correctly interpreted the panicked expression on his face when his mother had appeared, it seemed like there was. 

Yet, Hermione couldn't help but be more than slightly offended that Draco had pushed her away so insistently before his mother returned to the table. Obviously, there was strife between his family and herself, but seeing as she was  _supposed_ to be his friend and he was _supposed_ to have lunch with her, the decent thing to do would have been to invite her to stay. Did Hermione want to join him with his mother for tea? Not one bit. But that wasn't the point. 

Admittedly, Hermione could all but guarantee that Narcissa Malfoy wouldn't have wanted _her_ to join them for tea either.  While Hermione could tell that Draco’s mindset had shifted over the past few years, Draco had shared enough about his parents for her to infer that they hadn't come to the same realisation.  Based on what he had told her Friday about their continued preference of pureblood culture and the fear that flooded his eyes when he motioned towards his approaching mother, she could logically conclude that their prejudiced beliefs were just as strong as always despite everything that had happened. Although, that really shouldn’t come as much of a shock. Older generations were always slower on the uptake of new social norms, especially when those beliefs had defined them for so long.

Hermione sucked in a breath and slowly released it, a process she had been repeating the past several minutes to maintain a semblance of calmness.  She really wanted to believe Draco when he said that he could explain why he had abandoned their lunch plans without warning.  It was an odd feeling putting that much trust in someone who used to be her sworn enemy, but she was determined to give this friendship a decent chance.  It had been going so well until an hour ago.

As Hermione neared her office, she realised that she was only a few paces away from Rosa Lee. She debated crossing the street so she wouldn’t have to see Draco and Narcissa seated next to the window but ultimately decided against it. She may not be thrilled at the little mother-son tea that was happening within those walls, but considering that her building was on the same side of the street, it would be silly to go out of her way just to avoid the sight of them.

She continued on her current trajectory, but as she was about to pass the shop, Hermione noticed that a man was standing outside the window, his camera’s flash going off several times a minute. Hermione let out a short scoff.  Leave it to the _Daily Prophet_ to find a casual tea between a mother and son newsworthy! They’d probably find some way to sensationalise it, fabricating the most extraordinary tale out of such a mundane event.

Hermione adjusted her path just enough so she wouldn’t collide with the intruding photographer. She picked up her pace as she passed the window, trying to pretend as if she had blinders on to prevent her eyes from straying from the pavement ahead of her, but her naturally curious subconscious betrayed her resolve and shifted her attention through the glass pane. It was only a glimpse. What harm could a glimpse do?

A lot.

Hermione’s heart dropped when she caught sight of the table on the other side of the window. Draco was no longer in the same seat that she had left him in. He was now on the opposite side of the table, and his original chair was occupied by a pretty young witch, a vibrant smile stretched across her full, pink lips as Draco took a casual sip from his tea.

Her frustration from before returned in full force, and there were no breathing techniques that would calm her now.

What happened to tea with his  _mother?_ Hadn’t that been the reason why he hadn’t shown up?  But when Hermione thought about it again, she remembered that he had never actually said that Narcissa was the person that he would be dining with. In fact, all he said was that  _‘something had come up.’_ What? Was her company not good enough for him once he had another, better option?

Hermione’s feet failed to move, frozen behind the still snapping away photographer, her brain too consumed with the vision before her to continue back to her office. Hermione thought she recognised the witch from Hogwarts, although she must have been a year or two below them because she didn’t recall seeing her in any classes. She had long black hair that ended just above her waist and was clearly well maintained, hardly any stray hairs visible. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Draco, twirling a lock of her pin-straight hair around a finger as he spoke.

Hermione was all too familiar with body language like that. She had had to endure it nearly every single morning sixth year as Lavender Brown drooled over Ron. This witch was infatuated with Draco -- it was written all over her face.

Draco was harder to read. He had always been better at masking his emotions and now wasn’t an exception. His lips remained tight as she took control of the conversation, him taking the opportunity to take another sip of tea. As he set it down, there was another flash, and Draco looked out the window at the continued interruption, his expression immediately falling when he looked past the photographer and caught sight of her.

Their eyes met for only a brief second, just barely giving Hermione enough time to register the connection before she tore herself away and forced her back to him, sucking in a deep breath as she finally returned to the path toward her office. Her grip tightened around the paper bag still in her hands, thankful for the thin barrier preventing her nails from digging into her skin. She didn’t know what to think about the scene she had just witnessed, but one thing was certain -- she did  _not_  like it.

She threw open the door to her firm’s level of the building, Gretchen greeting her upon her return.

“Back so soon?” Hermione’s trusted assistant asked, tilting her head in confusion. “How was your --”

“Fine,” she grumbled, even though she felt anything but.

Hermione continued to walk right past Gretchen and slammed her office door, spending what remained of her lunch hour in solitude. He had a  _lot_  of explaining to do tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's not Thursday... Real life kicked my butt this week, so this is a bit later than anticipated, but it's like 6k long, so hopefully that makes up for it! 
> 
> As always, HUGE thank you to everyone reading, who has given kudos and/or written a comment. This week is also going to be a crazy one, so I won't make any promises on what exact day I'll be posting the next chapter, but it won't be too long of a wait, I swear :)

_DRACO MALFOY UP FOR GRABS?_

_Get excited ladies! It seems like one of Wizarding Britain’s most desirable bachelors is out on the prowl! Draco Malfoy, author of the best selling book and Rita Skeeter’s top choice for juiciest reads of Fall,_ Behind Gilded Gates: Inside Malfoy Manor During the Wizarding War _, was spotted yesterday having tea with Victoria Flint, fellow Slytherin and Hogwarts alumna. The two were spotted canoodling on a date at Rosa Lee Teabag on Diagon Alley Monday afternoon, but our source assures us that the young Malfoy heir isn’t committing to anyone just yet —_

Draco crumpled up the newspaper and threw it halfway across his bedroom, not willing to read past the first few sentences. The whole thing dripped of his mother’s meddling hands. “ _One of Wizarding Britain’s most desirable bachelors?”_ Please. Not that Draco didn’t think that he was a damn bloody catch -- not every wizard could be as devilishly handsome or as instinctively clever -- but to call him that was a bit of a stretch even by his definition.

The general population may have accepted the Malfoys back into society, but he highly doubted most wizarding families would jump at the opportunity to get their daughter hitched to the former Death Eater. And besides, it wasn’t as if his parents would consider any of those “lesser families” as viable options. The expectation was clear -- his wife to be was to be pureblood, and it was the pureblood families who remained sceptical of his “desirability.” His father had been repeatedly telling him that for months.

But hadn’t that been the point of this blasted scheme of his mother? To hype up his appeal? Just how much money had Narcissa invested in this carefully calculated PR stunt?

Naturally, she and Lucius had been thrilled when the morning paper had arrived, Draco and Victoria’s photo plastered on the front page just below the fold. Seriously -- did the wizarding world have nothing better to report on now that the Dark Lord was long since defeated? Surely there were more pressing news matters than his fabricated dating life. Then again, Narcissa wouldn’t have skimped out on payment if the publication could assure such a prime spot.

If he didn’t know any better, it’d be easy to believe that yesterday’s outing really had been a sincere social affair. The article was short -- seeing as there really wasn’t anything to report -- but the picture spoke for itself. Even from the black and white reproduction, Victoria’s genuine interest was apparent. She was leaned in so close, any further and she would have been lifted off of her seat. Draco had managed to pull off a convincing enough facade, his image smiling and nodding in the picture -- the expression he had made sure to maintain once the photographer had arrived. He had tried to turn up the charm for appearance’s sake, and while he had ultimately succeeded, it had been bloody hard, his mind stuck in an infinite loop of wishing that the witch across from him had been Hermione instead.

He crashed down onto his mattress and closed his eyes. Within seconds, the betrayed expression on Hermione’s face from the other side of the glass flashed in front of the sea of black. He hadn’t been able to shake the image from his mind. Her eyes had been devoid of all their usual warmth and her typical bright smile had been traded in for a downward curl of the lips. He vastly preferred when she had simply been mad at him for ditching their lunch.

He was going to have a hell of a time digging himself out of this hole. He wasn’t certain what he’d say to her at lunch that afternoon, not really wanting to dive into the politics of pureblood society. Their friendship was too new, too fragile. But he needed her to know that he hadn’t lied to her, and he really had been looking forward to their lunch just as much as she had been, if not more so.

~*~*~

It was nearly ten in the morning, but Hermione had already been at work for hours. Her slumber had been unusually difficult that night, constantly tossing and turning in bed, unable to keep her eyes shut for more than two hours at a time. When she had awoken for the fourth time just shy of six, she had surrendered herself to the restlessness and gotten ready for work. It wasn’t ideal, but it wouldn’t be completely terrible to get in early. Things were starting to pick up now that Anders had finished the literacy reports, providing Hermione with the firm data on the range of educational needs of wizarding children, so she had plenty to do that day.

Hermione’s fingers drummed against the wooden surface of her desk as she shuffled between the various parchments spread out in front of her. The reports were promising, with the majority of children demonstrating proficiency in various levels of literacy across the board, but their general knowledge of Muggle literature proved to be just as lacking as she had expected, even in Half-blood families with Muggle-born parents. That was obviously something that needed to be fixed, and she had no doubt, if implemented correctly, their program would be successful in mending that gap.

There was a knock on her door, and Gretchen stepped inside, a warm cup of tea in her hand. “I thought you might want a second one this morning,” she said as she gently set it on Hermione’s desk. “You look a bit tired.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, grateful for her assistant’s astute observation. She picked up the fresh cup and took a sip before returning it on top of the saucer.

Gretchen placed a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ next to the cup. “Also, I’m not sure what time you arrived, so I figured you’d need a copy of today’s paper. There’s an article on page five about the decline in book sales in rural communities that you’ll probably find interesting.”

Another thoughtful gesture from Gretchen. Granted, part of her job was making Hermione’s job easier, but it was small moments like this that went above and beyond that Hermione was particularly grateful for. As Gretchen had guessed, Hermione had left so early that morning, her copy of the _Prophet_ hadn’t arrived yet. She supposed she could set aside Anders’ reports for a few minutes to flip through the day’s news.

Hermione rubbed the palm of hands over her eyes and then stretched out across the desk to pick up the paper and unfold it. She took a moment to scan over the front page, telling herself that she’d return to it properly after she’d checked out the article Gretchen had recommended, but her eyes froze when they landed on the image of Draco and the girl from yesterday. She swallowed harshly at the reminder, her heart instantly dropping at the sight she had spent all of last night trying to forget.

Of course it was plastered on the front page! How had she not expected to see it! Hermione wished she would just turn the page already, but just like the day before, her attention was drawn to it, unable to tear herself away. The witch was even prettier than she remembered, her long black hair and shining eyes taunting Hermione from the printed page. When Hermione saw the witch’s hand subtly reach across the table to place it on top of Draco’s, she finally forced her attention elsewhere, bringing it to the caption below the picture, ignoring the way her stomach lurched at the sight.

_Pictured: Draco Malfoy and Victoria Flint on a date at Rosa Lee Teabag._

Hermione felt her pulse start to quicken. Well, now she had a name for the witch Draco had abandoned her for. Her resentment and anger from the day before came boiling back. It had been bad enough when she had thought that Draco had left her standing there alone and waiting just so he could get tea with his mother, but the discovery that he had opted to spend his lunch with _Victoria_ had Hermione even more incensed and irritated.

Hermione slowly drew in a breath and released it, trying to maintain her composure in the workplace. It was totally natural to be upset when a friend cancels last minute. Surely she’d be just as annoyed if Harry, Ron, or anyone else that she was close with had pulled a similar stunt, so it wasn’t as if she was reacting any differently because it was Draco. But this was more than just that. He hadn’t warned her of his absence and then got lunch with _someone else._ A date, no less!

Nearly every piece of her wanted to remain angry and bitter and never agree to lunch with him again, but her insatiable curiosity was fighting its way to the forefront of her mind. For some blasted reason, she was still interested in hearing what he had to say for himself. If there was even a slight chance he could properly explain, he deserved the chance to prove himself. That’s what she would do for any of her other friends, right?

And yet, why were her fingers clamped so tightly around the edges of the paper?

It must be because their friendship was so new. Yes, that must be it. They had just barely started to develop a comradery outside of the strife of their youth, so that must be why this stung more than usual. They were still laying the foundation of their friendship.

“Also, don’t forget about your meeting today.”

Hermione pulled herself away from the newspaper, having completely forgotten that Gretchen was still in her office. She gave her head a quick shake to wipe away her thoughts and return to the present. She pressed her eyelids shut, trying to think. “Remind me which meeting this is?”

“The rescheduled meeting with Ms Weggers from last week? To discuss the preliminary curriculum outlines?”

Goodness! How had Hermione forgotten! She had been waiting _weeks_ for this meeting to happen, and she had somehow managed to let the new date slip from her list of priorities. It was absolutely critical for her firm that the Ministry approved these curriculum outlines or there really wouldn’t be much use in them moving further with their current trajectory. Thankfully Hermione had had everything for the meeting prepared since last Monday, and all she had to do was grab the right file of parchments.

Hermione collected Anders’ report, making a mental note to finish her analysis of the results after the meeting, and placed it on the corner of her desk. “And what time is she expecting me?”

“Half past ten, ma’am.” 

So she still had just a little under thirty minutes to refresh herself with the details of what she wanted to say to Weggers. She would have preferred more time, but she’d just have to make do. Gretchen excused herself, and Hermione pulled out the preliminary curriculum outlines file, opening it to the talking points parchment that rested on top. She rehearsed some of her prepared statements under her breath, determined to make this an efficient and productive meeting.

If everything went as planned, the meeting shouldn’t take more than a half hour, an hour _max_ , leaving her plenty of time to return to the office before lunch where she would hopefully get the explanation she deserved. And for his sake, it better be a good one.

...

Hermione huffed as she sat in the waiting room, growing more and more frustrated as the seconds ticked on. When Weggers had postponed their meeting last week, the woman had told Gretchen that her meeting with Hermione would be her “top priority” that day. _Ha!_ Hermione had already been waiting for over twenty minutes and her tolerance for this unnecessary waste of her time was growing smaller by the minute. It wasn’t as if Hermione didn’t have other things to do!

Hermione kept her eye on the clock, the minute hand moving past the twelve and her patience reaching a new low. This was just unacceptable! If Weggers was going to be late, then she should have owled! Honestly, did _no one_ have common decency any more?

Her chair scratched against the tiles as she pushed it back and got to her feet, stomping to Weggers’ assistant. “How much longer is she going to be keeping me waiting?” Hermione demanded.

“She’ll be with you as soon as possible,” the man responded, parroting the meaningless words he had probably been trained to say regardless of the situation.

Well, _“as soon as possible_ ” didn’t work for Hermione when she had plans in less than an hour! And unlike _some_ people, she had every intention to _keep_ her lunch plans.

“I’m sure Ms Weggers is a busy woman, so she should more than understand that my time is equally valuable,” Hermione snapped, placing her hands on her hips. “I was told that my meeting was at 10:30, and it is now past eleven!”

“I apologise for the inconvenience, ma’am, but she’ll be with you as soon as possible,” the impossibly unhelpful assistant repeated.

Hermione had half a mind to storm into Weggers’ office and demand the start of their meeting, but that would ultimately be detrimental to her end goal. As much as it pained Hermione, she would have to resist the growing temptation. If she wanted the meeting to be successful, she needed to stay on Weggers’ good side, regardless of her desire to do otherwise.

Hermione returned to her seat with a frown, her foot dancing in the air impatiently. The minutes continued to pass, each one without any sign of Weggers.

After twenty more minutes, Hermione had had enough.

“I have now been waiting for nearly an hour!” Hermione sniped at the assistant.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, ma’am, but I assure you that she will be with you —“

“As soon as possible. I know.” Hermione withheld a roll of her eyes.

“I understand your frustration,” he said, although it didn’t sound very sincere, “but she’s with an important client.”

“Well, I have an important—” Hermione paused, trying to think of what word to use. A mere lunch seemed insignificant in comparison. “— _meeting—”_ she eventually settled on “—that I’ll be late to if we don’t start soon.”

The man remained unsympathetic. “If you need, we can reschedule.”

He began to flip through Weggers’ appointment calendar, and for a split second, Hermione considered taking him up on the offer, but quickly came to her senses. She couldn’t postpone this meeting again just so she could get lunch with Draco, regardless of how much she wanted to hear his explanation. Work came first, even if it meant delaying getting answers.

“That won’t be necessary,” Hermione surrendered. “Although that does mean that I need to send an owl to my next engagement. If Ms Weggers becomes available while I am gone, you can tell her that I’ll be back _as soon as possible_.”

In a huff, Hermione left the waiting room and proceeded to the Ministry lifts where she pressed the button for the fourth floor. When the gates opened, she wandered down the familiar halls from when she used to work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and stopped at her old assistant’s desk.

“Miss Granger!” Samantha said, surprised to see Hermione in front of her. “I didn’t know we were expecting you today!”

“I’m actually down on the first level meeting with the Minister’s office to discuss educational reform,” Hermione quickly explained, her focus elsewhere. “But if you’re not busy, I need a favour.” 

Samantha smiled. “I’ll help however I can!”

Hermione felt a tinge guilty for asking Samantha to do something considering she hadn’t been her assistant for several months, but Hermione was pressed for time and this seemed like the most efficient solution. At least not all Ministry assistants were as unhelpful as that man who worked for Weggers! 

Hermione grabbed a piece of parchment off Samantha’s desk and picked up a quill and started to write. “I need you to go to the nearest owlery and have this delivered outside my office on Diagon Alley. Tell the owl to wait for the recipient to arrive. He should get there around noon.” Hermione folded the note and pulled out her wand to cast a Sealing Charm. She then flipped it over and wrote a small _D.M._ on the blank surface before handing it to Samantha.

“Is that all?” Samantha asked, not pressing for any details about its contents, for which Hermione was grateful.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “And thank you. I sincerely appreciate it.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Hermione wished her a good day and then returned to the lifts. As the gates closed, Hermione knocked her head back and groaned. She would sincerely hate if she really did have to postpone her lunch with Draco just because she was stuck waiting for a meeting that was supposed to start an hour ago, but her job obviously came first, and she would wait in that stupid room all day for Weggers if that’s what it took.

Didn’t mean she’d be happy about it, though.

~*~*~

The early October sun broke through the clouds and shined down on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley as Draco landed outside of Hermione’s office just before noon. He wouldn’t dare be even a minute late after yesterday’s disaster. He jumped up the steps two at a time and stood on the stoop in front of her office building’s door, balancing his hand over his eyebrows to block the rays of light from obstructing his vision, when an owl swooped down and landed on the railing beside him.

Draco ignored the owl at first, assuming its presence to be nothing of personal importance just like the dozens of other owls that fluttered down the alleyway, but for some reason, this particular owl kept his large black eyes plastered in Draco’s direction, continuously staring at him.

“Can I help you with something?” Draco asked the owl, feeling a bit foolish for speaking to an animal with no capability to respond.

The owl merely tilted his head as if assessing Draco and after a few seconds of consideration, dropped the note in its beak at Draco’s feet before expanding its wings to full length and flying away.

Draco watched curiously as its shape grew smaller into the distance until he looked down at the note that it had left behind. Not very many people contacted him nowadays -- his publisher essentially the only person who bothered to reach out other than the recent influx of proposition letters -- but even then, those correspondences typically went directly to the Manor for him to open whenever he got home. Perhaps the owl had confused him for someone else. But yet again, how many white blonde purebloods were out there in the world?

Draco looked closer and noticed his initials on the parchment. He promptly picked it up and started to read.

_May not be able to make it -- stuck waiting for a meeting. If I’m not there by 12:15, consider your debt slightly repaid and assume we’ll have to reschedule. _

_P.S. This is how you notify people of your absence._

Draco snorted. While he was disappointed to learn that she would be late or perhaps not come at all, he smiled despite it. There was just enough of her signature spark evident in the words. Leave it to Hermione Granger to find room to criticise him in a three sentence note.

He pulled out his pocket watch. He could wait fifteen minutes. In fact, he could wait longer if need be. It wasn’t as if he had other plans. And if that meant waiting all afternoon just so he could make up for his error from the day before, then it would be more than worth it.

...

Draco’s back rested against the brick facade of her building, his head bobbing backwards as he drifted in and out of a nap, when he felt a sudden kick against his foot prompting him awake. He rubbed his fists over his eyes to wipe away the rest of his sleepiness, and when he opened them properly, he saw Hermione looming over him, a bag of take-away in her hands.

“I hope there’s enough in there for two,” he said, his voice a bit rough.

“What are you still doing here?” Hermione asked as Draco slowly pushed himself off the concrete floor and stood up properly.

“You waited fifteen minutes for me yesterday, so I figured I deserved a taste of my own medicine,” he responded, still trying to come back to his full senses. “What time is it anyway?”

“It’s a quarter til two!”

“An hour and forty-five minutes, huh?” Draco cracked his neck and stretched his arms over his head, attempting to get all the kinks out of his bones after sitting on the stoop for so long. “Think I’ve repaid my debt yet?”

“Not even close!” Hermione answered sharply. “First of all, I warned you I’d be late; second of all, I told you that you could leave after fifteen minutes; and third of all, this situation is completely different because it was for my work and therefore unavoidable!”

“You mean to tell me that sometimes things come up last minute? Perhaps unexpectedly?” Draco initially challenged but quickly thought better of it. He was here to apologise, not antagonise. “Nevermind. Now get rid of whatever it is you purchased to eat, and let’s go somewhere proper. I owe you lunch.”

He only made it a few steps down the stairs before he realised that Hermione wasn’t following him.

“I don’t have time, Draco,” she said. He thought he detected a trace of remorse in her tone, but it could have just been wishful thinking on his part. “My meeting went way beyond the expected end time, so I need to get back to work.”

“Oh, the woes of the employed,” Draco said in what he hoped was a teasing manner to mask his disappointment. Even when he had suggested still getting lunch, he knew it was a longshot provided that she had already picked up her own meal and that it was rather late in the afternoon, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t held out hope for a different response. “But before you disappear on me, I better give these back to you.”

Draco reached into his robes and pulled out two scrolls, the first one containing Hermione’s questions from Friday, the second his responses. It wasn’t much of a peace offering seeing as he intended to give them to her regardless, but if he was lucky, his extensive answers would somewhat appease whatever remained of her anger.

Hermione took the scrolls out of his hand and raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, but seeing you brought that up, I believe there’s something _else_ that you owe me?” She folded her arms across her chest and waited.

Here? _Now?_ Draco knew she expected him to provide his explanation, and he had every intention of doing so -- he just envisioned that he wouldn’t have to say it while still standing in front of her office building just minutes before she returned to work!

Draco cleared his throat and tried to give her the short version. “While I do admit that I owe you quite the thorough explanation as well as an extensive apology for yesterday, let me first clarify what you saw. You see, I really didn’t… My mother… I didn’t know…”

Sweet fucking Merlin, he sounded like a babbling idiot! This was exactly why he wanted to wait until they had time to discuss it properly! But Hermione continued to raise her eyebrow, so that didn’t seem like an option.

Draco took in a deep breath, and after regaining his composure, decided to start from the beginning like he had originally intended. “My mother came into my bedroom mere minutes before I was about to leave to meet you yesterday. She suggested getting tea that afternoon, and I just assumed she meant later that day, so I agreed before I understood the time conflict, but by that point, it was too late to back out and if I tried to owl you, it never would have made it in time.”

Hermione wasn’t impressed. “So far, not a great start, Draco Malfoy. Seems to me like you could have just been honest and told your mother you already had other plans.”

Gods, if only it was that simple! Hermione didn’t get -- didn’t understand what it meant to come from a pureblood family. Generations and generations of familial traditions and expectations had been instilled in him since the moment he could form memories. Malfoys came first; everyone else came second.  

It was this very belief that had motivated so many of their decisions during and after the war. The reason why his mother had gone behind the Dark Lord to make sure that Snape kept an eye on him sixth year. The reason why Draco had seriously considered Dumbledore’s offer to protect him and his parents when he couldn't bring himself to kill the Headmaster. The reason why his mother had lied to the Dark Lord about Potter. The reason why he continued to lie about what really happened in Malfoy Manor.

Family came first, even if he had grown to resent many of the implications that came with it.

Salazar knew Draco wasn’t thrilled at the future his parents envisioned for him, but he never considered that there was any other option. His entire life, he had been trained to listen to everything his parents said, and even though that mentality hadn’t exactly worked out great for him so far, he was still finding it difficult to stray far from that path. He may not like admitting it, but at the end of the day, his father’s approval still meant a great deal to him.

But the more and more time Draco spent with Hermione, the more he found himself questioning if all that was really worth it.

While Draco had been busy thinking, Hermione had carried on with her beratement of him. “And while I’d _love_ to dive into greater depth the approximately _ten_ things you could have done differently, let’s just jump to the real issue here. Who exactly is Victoria Flint and why did you find it so important to go on a date with her over me!?”

Hermione's last few words echoed in his ears, and he merely blinked at her as a streak of red coloured her cheeks. “That came out wrong,” she stammered. “Obviously you weren’t choosing between going on a date with her or going on a date with —“

“I know what you meant,” Draco cut her off, opting to move past her obvious mixup without addressing the way his heart plummeted the second he heard her say _that_ word. “But it wasn’t a _‘date.’”_

“Oh, really?” Hermione pressed. “Then how do you explain what I saw? Or that picture?”

His heart managed to find a way to sink even deeper. So she had seen the _Daily Prophet_ article. Of course she had! He’d be crazy to believe there was even a slight chance that Hermione Granger wasn’t the type of person to commence her day by reading the morning paper. 

He shook his head. “You more than anyone knows not to take everything the _Daily Prophet_ says at face value,” Draco tried to reason without diving into his mother’s whole scheme. Now really wasn’t the time to get into all that.

But naturally, she wasn’t satisfied with his response. “That doesn’t answer my question!” she snapped, her chest puffing slightly. “But if you’re not going to explain yourself, then I guess there’s nothing left for us to discuss, so I suppose I’ll just head back to work now.” 

She turned away from him and Draco couldn’t bear to see her leave while still upset with him. If he didn’t resolve things now, he doubted she would give him much of a second chance.

Hermione was almost to the door when he reached out for her hand and stopped her in her tracks. He couldn’t help but note how small her hand felt in comparison to his, her gentle skin cool to the touch against his contrasting warmth. She had already stopped her trajectory away from him, yet he didn’t want to let go just yet. There was something strangely calming about simply having her hand in his, even if she was displeased with him.

Realising that he had been holding on for too long, he forced himself to drop their connection and took in a deep breath, giving his explanation one final shot. “I sincerely had no idea Victoria was going to be there. My mother had the whole thing set up without my knowledge. Almost as soon as you left, Victoria and her mother arrived and it became blatantly obvious that this wasn’t just a mother-son tea. The second she sat down across from me, I wanted out, but for reasons that I won’t get into at the moment, I couldn’t. Or rather, I didn’t. I’m not proud of it, okay? But my point is, you’re just going to have to take my word for it when I say that it was _not_ a date, regardless of what rubbish and lies the _Daily Prophet_ is spewing.”

He paused to take a breath before closing his eyes for a brief second, reopening them so his focus was solely on Hermione. “I wanted to have lunch with _you_ , and that remains, whether that’s today, tomorrow, or some other time this week.”

At his final words, Hermione seemed to loosen up a little, but she did her best to maintain her firm ground. “And what if I don’t want to anymore?”

“Then I’d be quite disappointed,” Draco said, some of his own tension starting to diminish as it finally felt like Hermione was starting to come back to his side. “After all, we still need to discuss those books.” He smiled as he looked down at her bag, his copies still peeking out from the top. “We can’t have you forgetting what you read, can we?”

“I can assure you _that_ won’t be an issue.”

“Well, let’s not risk it,” Draco countered, his confidence growing stronger by the second. “Lunch tomorrow. And no cancelling or even showing up late this time. It will be both of our top priorities.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Hermione said, and Draco tried not to focus too much on the return of his disappointment. “My meeting this afternoon went well, which means we’ll now have a lot more things to do around the office, so I’m not sure what my availability will be.”

Draco feigned a carefree smile across his lips. If she was busy tomorrow, that would make this his first weekday afternoon since last Wednesday that he didn’t have her presence to look forward to. He most certainly didn’t like the sound of that, but it didn’t seem like he had any other option other than to accept that some people’s jobs were more inflexible with the hours.

“Then you’ll just have to owl me your availability, and I’ll clear my schedule for you,” he eventually resolved.

At that, she snorted a little, lowering her head and looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Fine, but if you ditch me again, this friendship is over.”

He could tell that she was trying to come off as mildly threatening, but he got the impression that she wasn’t totally sincere -- or at least he hoped so. Draco took his chances and shot her a teasing smirk. “Please, you wouldn’t dare devoid yourself of my companionship.”

Hermione squeezed in a farewell roll of her eyes before she headed up last few steps to her building and twisted the doorknob. “ _Goodbye, Draco._ ”

“Bye, Hermione.”

At the sound of her name, she looked back at him, and for the first time all conversation, she smiled. It was so genuine and bright, he swore it was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen.

When Draco Apparated home, he did so feeling infinitely lighter knowing that Hermione seemed to be on the path towards forgiving him, or at least letting this incident stay in the past. And now that she was giving him a second chance, he wasn’t going to waste it.

~*~*~

“What has you in such a good mood?” Gretchen asked the moment Hermione stepped foot inside the office.

Hermione’s hand snapped up to feel her cheeks. She hadn’t even realised that she had been smiling so broadly!

“I’m guessing this means the meeting with Ms Weggers went well?”

“What? Oh, yes! Ms Weggers!” It couldn’t have been more than a half hour since their meeting had concluded and it already felt like hours ago. “She kept me waiting for nearly an hour and a half, so I decided to return the favour by making her sit through an hour and a half of my presentation. But she approved it!”

“Perfect!” Gretchen said, sharing in her boss’s excitement. “I’ll send a memo to the rest of the department with the good news so that we can start coordinating the follow up departmental briefings. Do you need me to do something with those parchments?”

Hermione followed Gretchen’s gaze to the two parchments in her hand that Draco had just given her. “Oh, these? That won’t be necessary. They’re for me,” she said with a soft smile as she headed towards her office door. “But I’ll come out in a few minutes with some things I need you to do. Just need to eat my lunch first!”

Back at her desk, Hermione pulled out the salad from her take-away bag and unrolled the two parchments, laying them out next to each other. She really did need to get back to work, but she could spare five minutes while she ate to take a brief look at what he had written. From first glance, it was evident that Draco must have taken ages to respond, even if he had used a Self-Writing Quill, which she assumed was the case based on the perfectly neat script. Some of Draco’s responses were several paragraphs long, evidently sparing no detail to answer her questions completely. She wasn’t sure if he had done all this over the weekend or yesterday afternoon as a form of apology, but she appreciated his effort nonetheless.

Her eyes wandered off the parchment and over towards the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ that still laid on top of her desk. She picked up the newspaper and examined the picture of his and Victoria’s so-called ‘date’ more closely. Victoria certainly seemed to think that this was more than just a casual tea. But the more Hermione watched the picture repeat itself, the most she started to notice that something with Draco seemed off. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was exactly, but his smile wasn’t quite right and his expression wasn’t as sincere. Perhaps her brain was starting to imagine things after watching the picture on loop at least two dozen times, but he simply did not look as engaged with Victoria as he did during their conversations.

Seemingly against all odds, Hermione truly believed Draco when he said that his tea with Victoria wasn’t a date -- or, she supposed more importantly, that he had no knowledge of it beforehand and regretted missing their lunch. He had previously admitted to lying in his book, and since then, he hadn’t given her any reason not to trust that he wasn’t continuing with this same trend of honesty.

And yet, she could tell that he was still holding something back from her. She had restrained herself from asking what exactly he meant by "for reasons that I won’t get into at the moment," but she had forced herself to accept that not all of her curiosities could be answered at once.  Perhaps in time, he’d tell her about it. After all, their friendship was still so new.

Give him time. This was a new experience for both of them. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am *so* sorry for the delay, but we are finally back! Thank you all for being patient :) 
> 
> I absolutely promise there won't be this long of a wait between now and the next chapter. Things have finally started to settle down in my personal life, and I've taken a step back from shiny fests that keep drawing my attention elsewhere. (Also, if you haven't read Recipe for Heartache yet, I posted that earlier this month for the Strictly Dramione Back to Hogwarts Summer Loving Fest.)
> 
> One final thing: As always, a huge thank you to LightofEvolution who bore with me while I struggled through this chapter. You are the absolute best!

A massive stack of files collided with Hermione’s desk with a loud _plop_.

“More reports from Anders,” Gretchen explained as she straightened out the parchments. “They’re the latest we have on language acquisition patterns, nationwide statistics on average reading levels per age group, and baseline scores for basic Muggle history.”

Hermione ran two heavy hands under her eyes before she picked up the first few pages and gave them a cursory look over. This most recent collection of data would most certainly be a valuable reference, but as glad as Hermione was to have the resource, it only reminded her just how much work she had due to the three new projects she had recently been assigned.

Gretchen studied Hermione carefully, only breaking her concerned watchful gaze to look down at her boss’s schedule for the day. “I also wanted to remind you that your meeting with the Literacy department regarding critical analysis questions has been moved up to 10:30, and directly after that, the Muggle Studies department has requested your feedback on their lesson on Muggle inventions and innovations, and then at 1:00, Michaels and Nubley will be in the conference room to discuss finances for funding literary resources prior to the acquisition of Ministry funding, but then you are free until six when the board is coming in for a progress update on the Muggle reading list.”

Just listening to all that made Hermione feel significantly more tired. It had been constant go, go, go in the office ever since Weggers had given her approval on the preliminary curriculum outlines last Tuesday. Since then, high levels of stress had filled the corridors as everyone in the firm helped coordinate their next steps. For the past week, Hermione had been pulled in and out of meetings, hardly giving her time to tend to her personal assignments until the stars were bright in the sky and she was essentially the last person in the office.

Hermione draped her arms onto her desk and dropped her head over them. “Please tell me the end to all these meetings is near,” she griped.

“Almost, ma’am,” Gretchen tried to assure her, although she didn’t sound too convincing. “But if we’re going to stick to that December 31st deadline that Mr Tillman has set for us, then we need to get this all settled as soon as possible.”

A guttural groan escaped Hermione’s lips. She was all too familiar with the deadline that the owner of the firm had created for them, having been a part of _that_ meeting as well. She had desperately tried to convince him that he was running the risk of burning out his employees with such a short window, but Tillman was more concerned with getting the program into households as soon as possible. That way, he rationalised, the next year of students would still have nine months to immerse themselves in their curriculum before boarding the Hogwarts Express. Hermione had to agree with his motives, but his good intentions didn’t make _her_ job any easier!

Hermione wasn’t sure how much longer her body could withstand working at this unsustainable rate. Thirteen was already an unfortunate number, but it was even more so when it referred to how many hours someone worked in a typical day. Hermione may love her job and believe in everything the firm strived to achieve, but she still required a healthy step back from the insanity every now and again. After all, work wasn’t the only thing in her life.

And yet, when Harry and Ron had invited her to drinks that Friday evening, she had regretfully declined. She really did want to see her friends, but her brain simply wouldn’t have been capable of handling a single human interaction after such a draining week. The only two things Hermione had planned for her few days of freedom were reading with Crookshanks nuzzled in her lap and sleeping with Crookshanks nuzzled against her side. Either way, Crookshanks was the only company she wished to have. And for the most part, she had stuck to that plan. Over the course of the entire weekend, the only time she had stepped foot outside of her flat had been when she had gone to the store and picked up more cat food and a bottle of wine -- and even the brief conversation she’d had with the cashier had pushed her limits.

Now it was a new week, but despite having just had the weekend to supposedly recuperate, she was already struggling this Tuesday morning.

“Can I help you with anything else?” Gretchen asked, seeming to sense Hermione’s early exhaustion.

“Coffee,” Hermione said, forcing herself to sit up straight and pick up the first file of parchments. “Black.”

Gretchen left to complete the request, and while she waited, Hermione began reading through the language acquisition charts. It didn’t take long for Gretchen to return, but even in that short span of time, Hermione had already yawned twice and had to reread one of the charts three times because she hadn’t properly paid attention the first two attempts. She really shouldn’t have stayed at work until eleven last night and still insisted on coming in before eight!

Her assistant set the hot cup of coffee down next to Hermione, and when Gretchen took a step back, her concerned gaze had returned. “I hope I’m not crossing the line by saying this, ma’am, but you’re working too hard. Perhaps you ought to take a break?”

Hermione shook her head, not even taking a moment to entertain that idea. “As lovely as that sounds, you know that’s not possible. You just said why yourself -- we have a deadline. We have loads to get done, especially before this board meeting tonight.”

“I know, but if you keep trudging along at half-speed, you'll only be doing both the firm and yourself a disservice. At least take your lunch hour today.” Her face lit up. “Whatever happened to that lunch _‘companion’_ of yours?” 

Hermione’s head snapped up at the reference towards Draco. It was unfortunately true that another consequence of her hectic work week was that she hadn’t found time to see Draco since their second failed lunch last Tuesday. When he had suggested finding another time that week, she hadn't been lying when she said that she wasn’t sure what her availability would look like -- and much to her regret, it turned out that the answer was ‘none at all’.

“I haven’t seen him recently,” she answered with a resigned sigh. “But you know I haven’t had time for lunch. I barely have time to scarf something down between meetings!”

Gretchen took in a breath as she started towards the door. “I’m fully aware. I respect how much you put into this company, but you need to make time for yourself as well. And if my opinion is worth anything, I think you should see him again. Anyone who gets Hermione Granger to actually take her lunch break must be someone special.”

“I already told you it’s not like that! He’s not --”

But with a parting smile, Gretchen had already closed the door behind her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Obviously there was nothing going on between her and Draco! If Gretchen knew even _half_ of their backstory, she’d understand that it was a big enough feat that they had somehow made it to the level of being friends. And besides, he was seeing other people -- or at least he was according to the _Daily Prophet_. Even if it wasn’t _actually_ a date between him and Victoria Flint that she had so unwillingly witnessed, it didn’t change the fact that Draco was probably out there having dates with other witches. She highly doubted she was the only person he was spending so much time with.

But now that Gretchen had brought it up, it really was true that it had been too long since she had seen him. Unfortunately, it was also true that she still didn’t have time for a proper lunch. And even if she did, there was no guaranteeing that an owl would get to him in time.

Although, they didn’t necessarily need to get lunch. There were other activities out there in the world…

Suddenly an idea hit Hermione. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best solution she could think of so she could still finish what she needed to get done before the board meeting while also hopefully getting to see Draco.

Without delaying any longer, Hermione pulled out a blank piece of parchment and started to write him a letter.

~*~*~

Draco fell back onto his mattress, throwing a Snitch in the air and catching it before the small golden ball had the chance to open its wings. Here he was again, stuck in what was bound to be another painfully uneventful day, just like every other day had been for the past week. By now, he had given up hope that she was ever going to write him and turn that prospect around.

It had all begun last Wednesday, prior to when things had turned so south. Draco had awoken before the sun and anxiously waited by the large window that overlooked the gardens for the _Daily Prophet_ to arrive. The house elves had been completely baffled when they saw the young master up that early and assured him that they could do whatever he needed, but Draco knew that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until he was certain that there wasn’t any indication of his most recent venture to Diagon Alley anywhere inside the newspaper.

Now that his name, photograph, and supposed dating life had been plastered across the front page, he highly expected at least some mention of the outing. There was no way he had laid asleep on her office stoop for nearly two hours without getting noticed! And yet, after he tore through the pages and safely reached the back page, he had been shocked to discover that he was somehow in the clear. There was remarkably no need for him to perform any alteration spells.

Draco had breathed a sigh of relief as he returned to bed. He had managed to get away with another afternoon with Hermione. He was either supremely lucky or a sighting of him with a Muggle-born wasn’t as controversial as his parents had always made it out to seem. Either way, as long as it meant that his parents remained none-the-wiser to his near-daily luncheons, it was good news for Draco. And whenever she owled him with her availability for them to see each other next, perhaps he could do so without feeling as overly cautious the entire time.

But she had never owled.

Every second of that first day, Draco had kept his eyes fixated on the sky, waiting for any glimpse of an owl arriving from the distance -- half out of anticipation, half out of apprehension. The _Daily Prophet_ he could easily enough predict the arrival of in order to intercept the newspaper before his parents got their hands on it, but he had no idea when something from Hermione would appear, thus forcing him to be on constant lookout. He had hardly paid any attention to his parents’ conversation that morning over breakfast, and he had been so distracted during his Wizard’s Chess match against his father that Lucius was able to checkmate him within the first twenty moves.

For a while, his heart had lifted with a gut-wrenching mixture of fear and optimism with each new speck that appeared over the horizon. He would immediately drop whatever it was he was doing and dash to make sure that he was the one who greeted the owl upon its landing, but after the sixth owl that arrived with nothing more than another bloody proposition letter, Draco had learned to stop wishing for a different outcome.

As his mother had promised that previous Saturday evening at dinner, there was no longer a shortage of letters from potential suitors. Word spread quickly after the _Prophet’s_ vignette, and ever since its publication, an owl seemed to arrive every other hour with a new person for Draco to groan over. With each envelope that Draco had torn open, the more it had felt like he was simultaneously ripping away another piece of his lingering hope that Hermione would still contact him. By then it was Friday afternoon, and he had yet to hear anything from her, and now there were no much lunches to be had that work week.

Perhaps he had been too naive to believe that she had sincerely forgiven him for ditching her on Monday. Or maybe his real naivety had been believing that they really had become friends in the first place.

Come Monday, Draco had resolved to move on and chalk the whole experience up to a failed experiment between a war heroine and a former Death Eater. And yet, his heart had still practically raced out of his chest when his father appeared in front of him with a grimace deeper than Draco had seen in months, a letter clenched tight in his fist.

“This came for you,” Lucius had scowled as he thrust the parchment in Draco’s direction. “I assumed you smart enough not to have correspondence like this sent to the house.”

Draco’s eyes had grown wide as they met his father’s sharp gaze, fear flooding through his system. The already opened letter shook in Draco’s slightly trembling hands. This was precisely what he had spent the past several days hoping to avoid! He had assumed that Hermione wasn’t going to contact him at this point, so he foolishly hadn’t been watching the windows.

But as he held the letter that he had spent all those days waiting to receive, a different thought had crossed Draco’s mind. He was a grown adult and he didn’t need his father’s permission on who sent him letters. And his father certainly had no right to open his mail.

Draco had straightened himself out and looked Lucius directly in the eyes. “You can’t control everything I do, Father.”

Lucius had glared down at his son in shock, not having expected that sort of response, but he had maintained his sharp glare, refusing to forfeit his upper hand. “Perhaps not,” he had retorted, “but certain expectations continue to hold true while you live under this roof. You know very well that your right over any portion of the Malfoy estate will not go into effect until you sign your marriage contract, so until then, this house remains entirely in my name. And if you intend to continue down this foolish path that you seem so keen on following, it appears as if that may never happen.”

Draco had felt his cheeks flare red. “Everything keeps coming back to this marriage contract doesn’t it?” he had fumed, the blood his father deemed so superior starting to boil. “And just because I want to spend a few afternoons doing something else doesn’t mean I’m endangering this perfect pureblood fantasy you maintain!”

“You watch your tongue!” Lucius had snapped. “Or do I need to remind you what your mother and I risked to keep you safe? Now you write that editor back and tell him you won’t be writing a second book!”

Before he could see Draco’s confused expression, Lucius had turned on his heels and stormed out of the room, his black robes billowing behind him as he sternly paced away from his son.

Once his father was safely out of sight, Draco had unfolded the parchment, disappointment sinking in yet again. The letter hadn’t been from Hermione; it was just his editor asking if he had any ideas for a follow-up book. But that was the problem with writing a tell-all book -- Draco had already told it all. And he was still struggling to come up with what he could write about next.

After that incident yesterday evening, tensions had run high between the Malfoy men the rest of the night and continued this morning as well. Breakfast had been another silent affair, and now Draco was just glad to be alone in his wing of the Manor, far away from his father’s menacing stare.

Draco was still rather surprised that he had managed to stand up to his father about something, even if it hadn’t been for what he had expected. But despite the mix-up, he had no regrets. He was well past the legal age, and it was high time his parents took his free will into consideration. They may maintain a firm grip on certain aspects of his life, but some choices were still entirely his own for the choosing, even if his parents didn’t recognise it.

Draco once again tossed the Snitch up in the air, this time releasing it to flutter free around his bedroom. Enough with letting his parents dictate every aspect of his life and enough with waiting for Hermione to contact him. He had waited more than ample time, and if she thought that avoiding him was an option, then he had finally found something that Hermione Granger was wrong about.

He pushed himself off the mattress, but his attention was quickly drawn to the distinct sound of a beak tapping against his bedroom window. Draco let out a groan. Just what he needed -- another ruddy owl with yet another blasted proposition letter! Who was it now? The Burkes? The Selwyns?

Draco unlatched the window, and the owl landed on the sill, dropping the letter into Draco’s hand. He turned the envelope over in his hands to identify the family crest on the seal, but to his confusion, there was none. After ripping his finger through the crease and pulling out the contents, Draco’s heart stopped the moment he recognised the handwriting.

She had finally owled.

If he had known that mentally threatening to owl her would summon a response, he would have done that days ago!

Draco wasted no time reading the top piece of parchment.

_I hope you’ll forgive me for not getting back to you sooner. It seems like our friendship had a rough week from start to finish. Work has been quite busy, but I’d rather tell you more about it in person._

_I still have quite a few things that I need to get done for my job but would like to see you if you have time this afternoon. I’ll be at the address on the back starting at three and will most likely be there for an hour or two if you can join. I’ve given you directions from the Leaky Cauldron, as well as a map, to guide you. Once inside, meet me in the children’s section._

_Owl me back letting me know if you can make it. And you better not take this as an opportunity to give me a taste of my own medicine! Let’s pretend our transgressions of the past week never happened and just get back to seeing each other._

_Hermione_

_P.S. For the record, I managed to make it just fine being ‘devoid’ of your companionship, but I guess a week is my limit._

If he had the time? Draco had nothing but spare time, especially when it came to her.

He shuffled the parchments to look at the second page, a detailed list of turn by turn directions with a hand-drawn map below. As soon as he read the first step telling him to exit out of the Leaky Cauldron through the Muggle street side entrance, it became obvious that wherever she was leading him was not a part of Wizarding London. She didn’t bother to tell him where exactly he was supposed to meet her (that would make things too easy for someone so unfamiliar with the Muggle world!), but knowing her and her line of work, it was bound to be either a Muggle bookstore or a Muggle library. He hadn’t been to either one before, but she could have said they were having a picnic at Azkaban he still would have willingly agreed.

The still waiting owl pecked his hand. The bird must have been instructed not to leave until Draco had given his response, but that part was easy. Of course his answer was ‘yes’.

...

Draco gave himself one final glance in the mirror to make sure his hair was in place before starting his trek downstairs towards the fireplace. He pushed back the front few strands one more time until he was satisfied with his appearance. He obviously always looked good, but he’d venture to say he looked even more so that afternoon. Although, it could just be the fact that he was smiling for the first time in several days.

He took the steps down two at a time, not paying much mind to his surroundings, and nearly collided with his mother at the bottom of the stairs.

Narcissa glared at her son disapprovingly for his carelessness and eyed him sceptically. “Where are you off to in such a hurry? And what happened to your robes? What are you doing wearing Muggle clothing?”

For Merlin’s sake, did his parents need to be involved in every aspect of his waking moments? Sometimes he wondered if he had more freedom back at Hogwarts.

“I’m off, Mother, but rest assured that I’ll be back before dinner,” he settled, not bothering to divulge any more details. He may be practising his right to make his own choices, but that didn’t mean he was dumb enough to openly admit where he was going and who he was going with when it was none of their bloody business to begin with. “That is unless you have any more last-minute surprise dates you want to spring on me?”

Narcissa’s jaw dropped slightly at his unexpected retort, but she quickly regained her composure. “You should be thanking me for that,” she criticised, straightening herself out even further. “Victoria Flint is a lovely girl. When her mother mentioned at lunch last Saturday that Victoria was single, I figured you would be delighted, especially considering you got along with her brother.”

“Please,” Draco scoffed. “Don’t act like that was for me. You just wanted the publicity.”

“That may have also played a role,“ Narcissa admitted, not even pretending to be ashamed of this confession. “Merlin knows you aren’t doing your part to help the family in this process. You’ve gotten over twenty letters since that article, and you have yet to pick even one other witch to meet with.”

Draco released the now instinctive groan whenever the proposition letters were mentioned. The stack of letters had been growing nightly, and everytime a new one arrived, Narcissa proudly added it to the collection inside the jewelled box that sat on the chest in the formal dining room. Each one served as confirmation of the Malfoy’s slowly growing re-establishment in the pureblood community despite Draco’s continued disinterest in actually acting on any of those letters.

But that was an issue he didn’t have time to think about right now. Hermione was currently somewhere in Muggle London, and he had learned his lesson not to keep her waiting.

“Feel free to berate me about that some other time, Mother,” he dismissed. “But I have somewhere to be. And if you have a problem with what I choose to do in my infinite amount of free time, then you can get in line behind Father.”

And with that, he left his dumbstruck mother behind in the corridor as he proceeded to the fireplace to use the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron.

... 

Draco kept his eyes on the map as he navigated through the unfamiliar streets of Muggle London. He had gotten lost a few times along the way, even resorting to asking a few Muggles for guidance, but just up ahead, he could see the stone building with a banner hanging off that read “Library”. Draco chuckled to himself. He had correctly assumed that this would likely be his destination, but he still found it quite humorous and predictable that of all the places in London, Hermione Granger led him to a public library.

He pulled open the door and was immediately taken aback by its interior. Some of the aspects of it were the same as the libraries he was familiar with -- namely the fact that there were books organised on shelves -- but beyond that, the entire atmosphere was off. The walls were a shockingly sterile white and long rectangular things with cylindrical tubes inside hung from up above, from which light seemed to be coming out. Where were the long oak tables for studying with lanterns on top for your personal usage? And how exactly was one supposed to concentrate on a book under such harsh white light? If this were what the Hogwarts library had looked like, he never would have even stepped foot in there!

But Draco wasn’t here to criticise Muggles and their terrible taste in reading environments. He asked the librarian at the place marked “Help Desk” for assistance, and she guided him to the second floor where the children’s section was located. As expected, Hermione was already there, sitting cross-legged in front of a shelf, a pile already fifteen books high next to her.

A smile graced itself across his lips, and a slight tingling erupted inside of him. It was damn bloody good to see her again. He was so excited, he could kiss her.

Not literally, of course. Just a figure of speech.

Draco slowly approached her, the witch remaining oblivious to his presence, her attention much too focused on the wide selection of children’s books in front of her.

“You better not have made me come all this way so that you could give me Muggle books to read when we still haven’t discussed the ones I lent you.”

She looked up at him from over her shoulder and greeted him with that bright smile he had grown rather fond of lately. “You found it!”

Draco gently laughed. “Did you expect me not to?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know if you’d ever been out in Muggle London, so I wasn’t entirely sure,” she said, pushing herself off the ground and standing up beside him.

“I could probably count the number of visits on one hand, but it’s not my first time.”

“What a shame,” she said, bending down to pick up her stack of books and starting to make her way to the next aisle. “And here I was, thinking I was taking your Muggle London virginity!”

She disappeared down the row of bookshelves, but Draco remained in place. Hearing Hermione make even a teasing reference towards something sexual had taken him by surprise, causing his insides to go temporarily fuzzy and a gentle numbness to spread through him. It was just that -- well, he supposed he just wasn’t accustomed to thinking of her like that.

He shook away the strange jitters and met her halfway down the aisle, two new selections already added to the top of the teetering stack of books that was rested against her chest.

“Let me help you with that,” Draco offered, taking most of them into his arms so that it’d be easier for her to browse.

She thanked him, and when her brown eyes met his, Draco couldn’t help but notice that they were missing some of their typical shine and were now accompanied by complementary dark shadows underneath.

“Dear Merlin, woman, how little are you sleeping nowadays?” he asked. “A baby dragon could make its home in those eyebags!”

Hermione sighed as her fingers traced over the spines of the books. “Is it that obvious?” she asked resignedly. “Even my assistant made a comment today that I’m working too much.”

“Say it’s not true!” Draco mocked. “Hermione Granger is working too much?”

Hermione pulled one of the books off the shelf and knocked him on the shoulder with it, only prompting Draco to laugh.

“Fine,” Hermione surrendered, a smile starting to appear. “Perhaps I have a small propensity to get swept away in my work.” Draco raised an eyebrow, but Hermione quickly dismissed it. “Don’t give me that look! It’s been completely justifiable this week! We recently decided that we want to finalise the whole curriculum by the end of the year, so naturally, things have been a bit chaotic around the office.”

Draco’s sceptical expression didn’t fade. “Am I correct in assuming that you’ve taken on more than necessary?”

Hermione set her stack of books down on top of the bookshelf and folded her arms across her chest. “More than necessary is a subjective term,” she defended. “What you consider too much may be perfectly acceptable in my opinion.”

“Ah, so in other words, yes.” Draco chuckled as he shook his head back and forth. “You know you’re a workaholic, right?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow of her own now, but the traces of her smile remained. “You say that as if it’s news to you.”

Draco shrugged. “Maybe not news per se, but it’s funny how some things don’t change even when it feels like everything else has.”

The conversation took a momentary pause as Hermione continued to browse while Draco placed the rest of the books on top of the bookshelf and skimmed the unfamiliar titles.

“So I take it these are some of the Muggle books you’re planning on recommending for children?” he asked. He picked up the one titled _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ and read over the synopsis on the back.

“Mhmm,” Hermione responded. “I’ve been narrowing down my choices all week in preparation for my meeting tonight with our board. I figured I could just hand them my recommendation list like they asked, but what good’s a list if you don’t have a physical copy to read?”

“That’s some solid advice,” Draco said, recognising his words from what felt like forever ago but really couldn’t have been more than two weeks. “I wonder what brilliant person came up with that idea.”

“Oh, just some wizard,” she returned with that damn bright smile yet again. “He says some clever things from time to time.”

Draco laughed. “You’re going to regret admitting that, Granger,” he teased, feeling his own smile reach the edges of his lips. “I’ll never let you forget you said that.”

...

Hermione spent the next hour weaving through the aisles, picking up the various books that she needed for her meeting. They probably could have gotten it done in ten minutes if it wasn’t for the fact that each time she pulled a new title off the shelf, Hermione would go into a mini-lecture about why that particular book was so good. With every new selection, her face would light up with enthusiasm as she dove into her explanation. Her excitement was so genuine, it’d be easy to believe that any of those books was her favourite book ever written. And all the while, Draco happily stood there and listened to each and every word that came out of her lips.

By the time they were finished, Hermione had near upwards of fifty books, including some tale about a girl named Alice, a collection of poems about a stuffed bear named Winnie, and something about a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe that Draco doubted would be very accurate about what witches were actually like. She had even managed to convince Draco to choose a few adult Muggle books to read, to which he had no objections. He’d already read his way through the Manor’s library, and the book about some Lord of Flies sounded quite interesting. Well, that and he’d agree to virtually anything she suggested if it gave her a reason to stick around longer.

Once Hermione had checked out the books (of course she had a Muggle library card -- add it to the list of things that were just so predictably Hermione Granger), she paused and turned to him.

“I want you to pick three of these books and read them,” Hermione said. “I read three from your childhood, so it’s only right that you now read three from mine.”

Draco looked at her in disbelief. “What were the first words out of my mouth this afternoon?” he asked. “No reading any of your books until we’ve discussed mine! And don’t you need them for your meeting?”

“The board won’t notice a few missing titles,” she reasoned. “Come on, Draco. It’s just three books!”

“No way,” he retorted, determined to hold his ground. “Besides, you already got me to agree to read those two books about Lords!”

“ _Lord of the Flies_ and _Lord of the Rings_ are not related in the slightest!” she said with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know that yet, because I haven’t gotten to read them!”

She looked at him with those warm brown eyes of hers, the evidence of her exhaustion still apparent, but her pleading nature found a way to crumble his resolve. If she had managed to find time to see him despite her busy schedule, the least he could do was submit to this simple request.

“Fine,” he surrendered, grabbing the book about the fake witch. “I’ll take _one_ for now, and when I’m done, you can pick the second. Expect my full report on everything this C.S. Lewis guy gets wrong about magic.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Hermione said. “And when you finish, I promise to get you a Turkish Delight -- although I’ll warn you now to keep your expectations low.”

After checking their surroundings for onlooking Muggles, Hermione discreetly deposited the rest of the books into a small beaded bag that must have had an Extension Charm added to it. Their business at the library now complete, Draco and Hermione exited the building and started walking back towards the Leaky Cauldron, the sun hanging low in the early evening October sky.

“Why do you care so much about my opinion on these Muggle books anyway?” Draco eventually asked.

Hermione shrugged. “I suppose it’s because you grew up so differently from me. It’d be interesting to hear a new perspective, especially from someone who’s not only a wizard but also a pureblood and a writer himself.”

“I only wrote one book. That hardly makes me qualified to be the supreme judger of all Muggle literature,” Draco countered.

“One book is still one more book than I’ve ever written,” Hermione reasoned. “Do you think you’ll write another?”

Draco drew in a deep breath, thinking back to the letter from his editor and his father’s adverse reaction. “I don’t know yet,” he settled. “Things are a bit complicated on that front, and inspiration has been a bit… lacking.”

“You’ll think of something eventually,” Hermione assured him. “I mean, you’ve essentially got no choice in the matter. With the talent that you have, it’d be absolutely criminal for you not to write something else!”

Draco snorted. Of all the things he’d done, _that’s_ what she’d consider criminal?

“I appreciate that, but it’s not that simple,” he resolved. “There are other factors involved.”

“Like?”

Draco shoved his hands into his Muggle trouser pockets. “Let’s just say my father isn’t the biggest fan of my career choice,” he confessed.

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I can’t say I’m surprised. He and I always did tend to disagree on things.” She turned to him and smiled. “This isn’t the first time your father is wrong, and it most certainly won’t be the last.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello again! Told you I wouldn't make you wait as long for the next chapter :) 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who is reading this, has given kudos, and/or commented. I appreciate all your kind words so much and make an effort to respond to every single one. And as always, thanks to LightofEvolution for making sure I'm not off my rocker.

Hermione caught sight of her best friends seated at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron and waved at them to capture their attention as she weaved her way through the crowded pub. Harry beamed at the sight of her and pulled out the empty stool beside him for her to join them.

“Look who finally managed to make it!” Ron greeted her, raising his glass in the air. “Although, I am a bit shocked to learn they don’t actually keep you locked in that building until sundown.”

“Not today. Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Hermione said with a grin as she flagged down the barmaid to take her order.

Harry took a sip of his beer. “We’re just glad to see you’re still alive. After not hearing from you all week, we were a bit concerned,” he said.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “For a moment there, I thought the books might have finally swallowed you whole!”

Hermione laughed, grateful to have left the office at a semi-reasonable hour for once and having a chance to step away from her work and spend time with her dearest friends. When the barmaid returned with Hermione’s after-hours pick-me-up, the three clinked their drinks together in cheers.

“To Hermione finally seeing daylight!” Ron pronounced as they all took a sip of their drinks.

Hermione snorted as she set her glass down on the bar. “I missed you guys,” she said with an easy smile. “So catch me up on everything since Quidditch at the Burrow the other weekend. What have I missed?”

Harry and Ron took turns sharing updates from their lives, most of their latest stories centring around their work. Harry regaled tales from his recent Auror missions including busting of a group of Goblins selling counterfeit Goblin-made artefacts, while Ron lamented about how despite how exciting the Auror missions were, he was more than tired of all the accompanying paperwork.

“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t asked me to do it for you,” Hermione joked once Ron was done with his mini-rant. “You’ve been complaining about this since the day you two started there!”

“I swear Robards gives me three times more paperwork than Harry or anyone else in the department,” he groaned. “One of these days, I’m going to march into his office and slam my resignation notice on his desk and join the joke shop like George offered!” He took a massive swig from his drink, and the now empty glass hit the counter with a thunk. He then shook his head as if trying to shake away his grievances. “But enough about our lives. How are things going for you at the firm?”

“Good, but impossibly busy,” she answered after a calming deep breath. “The past week has been nothing but back to back meetings, but things are finally starting to slow down after last night. We met with the board to review the Muggle reading curriculum, and they seemed to be quite impressed with the selection of books I picked up with Malfoy yesterday afternoon.”

Harry started choking on his drink mid-sip while Ron gaped at her in disbelief.

“Hold up,” Ron said, his eyebrows knitting together and his forehead starting to wrinkle. “I must have heard you wrong, cause there’s no way you made time to see _Malfoy_ before you saw us!”

Hermione sighed and paused to take a sip from her drink before responding. She had expected that this would be their reaction, and yet she had purposefully dropped Draco’s name anyway. She had had a nice time with him at the library yesterday, spending nearly two hours roaming through the aisles and talking about some of her favourite books. There was no end in sight for their continually growing friendship, so Harry and Ron might as well get used to hearing his name come up so casually in conversation. If only they knew that she was starting them off easy by using his surname! But regardless of what she called Draco in front of her other friends, Hermione wasn’t going to omit details from her life just because they had a problem with him.

“Not that I need to justify my actions, but it was a work errand, and he happens to be free during the work day,” she explained. “Or would you have preferred I stopped by the Ministry and dragged you two halfway across London to go to the library with me?”.

“I think I’ll pass,” Ron promptly responded. “We more than filled our quota for that _years_ ago!”

“Precisely.” Hermione could have said a lot more on the matter, particularly that they shouldn’t read anything into the fact that she just so _happened_ to see Draco before she saw either of them, but she decided to drop the issue and continue with her story. “Anyway, so, we met with the board and --”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, confusion still etched across his features, apparently not as ready to move on as she was. “Did you take Malfoy to a _Muggle_ library?”

Hermione sighed. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Well, we weren’t going to find them in a Wizarding library, were we?”

“But, like, a _real_ Muggle library?”

“As opposed to what, Harry? A fake one?” she asked with a subsequent roll of her eyes, her patience reaching a new low. “Of course a real Muggle library!”

“Huh.” Harry paused to seemingly consider Hermione’s revelation and then said with a teasing grin, “Guess I’m just surprised Malfoy managed to step foot in a Muggle establishment without the Auror department getting involved.”

Ron snorted and Harry looked rather pleased with himself for his retort. Hermione, on the other hand, was not as easily entertained.

“Was that really necessary?” she scolded.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron said, his amused smile from Harry’s statement still spread across his face. “Even you’ve gotta admit that this whole --” he paused to add air quotes, “ _friendship_ thing between you and Malfoy is still pretty unbelievable.”

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, diving into defence mode. “I don’t have to admit anything of the sorts! And when was the last time either of you saw him, let alone had a conversation with him?”

Harry and Ron shared a quick dismissive shrug, not all off-put by Hermione’s growing frustration.

“Gotta be, what, three years ago? Around the time of his trial?” Harry answered first. “I mean, that’s not entirely our fault, though. His whole family was hiding out in their manor all those years. It’s not like we were invited over for tea.”

Another snort came from Ron’s direction. “Could you imagine?” Ron pitched his voice up an octave higher and put on a faux, lofty voice. “Oh, hello, Lucius. Long time no see. I believe the last time I saw you, you were running scared for your life away from the final battle. Joined another cult lately?”

Harry burst into laughter, and Hermione bit her tongue to prevent any rash comments from slipping out. So much for casually slipping Draco’s name in conversation and hoping that would make any sort of positive impact! But as much as it was currently paining her, she was determined to be the bigger person in this situation.

“Are you quite finished?” she asked once the boys started to calm down.

“For the moment,” Ron said with a grin.

Hermione breathed in deeply through her nose, letting the air fill her lungs to full capacity and then slowly exhaled. She made sure to maintain her forced composure as she said, “My point is that you two clearly aren’t keeping an open mind about him if you haven’t seen him in so long and you refuse to read even a sentence of his book.”

“Hard to say which part of that I hate more,” Ron not-so-secretly said to Harry. “Malfoy or the idea of actually really a book.”

Hermione’s glared at him disapprovingly, not thrilled with his continued disregard and flippancy towards the real matter at hand, and Ron finally seemed to get it through his head that she was no longer in a joking mood.

“Okay, okay,” he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Lighten up, Hermione. We’re just messing with you.”

Hermione huffed and Harry eyed her cautiously.

“This seriously means that much to you?” he asked, a sense of disbelief apparent in his tone.

“I’m not saying you have to be friends with him,” she clarified while maintaining a firm voice. “Merlin knows he probably doesn’t want to be friends with you either, and given your reactions the past two times I’ve brought him up, I can’t say I would blame him. But I should be able to bring him up in conversation without us having to spend five minutes debating the merits of his and my friendship.”

“At least we can agree with him on something,” Harry grumbled under his breath but failed to say soft enough so Hermione couldn’t hear. He grimaced a bit, his distaste apparent, but then said, “Alright, fine. If it really means that much to you, Hermione, we won’t make any more comments, okay?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, waiting for one final quip or perhaps a catch, but neither ever came. She slowly exhaled, releasing some of the tension she hadn’t noticed had built up in her shoulders over the past several minutes. She wasn’t naive enough to believe this meant the end of Harry fighting her on this, but it was a step in the right direction.

Her best friends may be hesitant, but after all these years together, she could always rely on them and trust that their meaningful friendship would always come before animosity towards someone else. Ron still didn’t look thrilled, but Hermione knew that his loyalty towards her would ultimately win. If the three of them could survive a war together, surely an insignificant thing like her newfound friendship with Draco wouldn’t come close to spoiling that.

Harry elbowed Ron in the gut. “Yeah, yeah. No more comments,” he reluctantly agreed. “But if he calls you a _you-know-what_ , you let us know, and we’ll be there faster than a niffler that caught sight of a gold necklace! And Malfoy can expect a lot worse than slugs this time!”

A smile found its way across Hermione’s lips again, the memory from second year coming back. “I think you’ve conveniently forgotten that you were the one who --”

“Nope! Not the point!” Ron cut her off, traces of his own smile returning as well. “It’s what I _intended_ to happen that counts! And Malfoy better watch out, cause this time I won’t have a broken wand!”

The three friends shared a laugh, and just like that, their momentary disagreement started to fade away. But as the evening continued, thankfully without any further snags, thoughts of Draco continued to sneak their way into her mind. Each time they popped up, Hermione forcefully shoved them away and returned her focus to her friends in front of her. Anything pertaining to Draco would have to wait for later. Tonight was all about her, Ron, and Harry.

~*~*~

For the first time in weeks, months, perhaps even a year, Draco was perfectly content in the manor. The books that Hermione had checked out for him from the Muggle library laid out on the table next to his favourite chair in the manor’s library, just waiting for Draco to continue reading them. He settled into the broken-in cushion and made himself comfortable in the spot he didn’t intend to move from until the morning sun had risen into the afternoon sky. Typically, Draco preferred to read in his bedroom, but he decided to make an exception this time. There was something oddly satisfying about bringing Muggle literature into a room filled with centuries of books written exclusively by half-blood or pureblood wizards.

Since getting home the previous evening, Draco had spent every waking moment that hadn’t been trapped in a meal with his parents reading. _Lord of the Flies_ hadn’t even taken him the night to complete, devouring it all in one sitting before the clock in Malfoy Manor library hit eleven. It had been easy enough considering that the book was barely more than two-hundred pages long, but Draco had been surprised by how much the Muggle story had engrossed him.

At the beginning, he enjoyed it for its seemingly simple plot of a young group of boys stranded on an island without adult supervision and their youthful excitement towards a life without rules. The boys quickly voted on a leader, but much to Draco’s dismay, they chose the boring stick in the mud Ralph over the clearly superior choice Jack. Draco had initially been preoccupied with their rivalry that vaguely paralleled his and Potter’s, but as the book carried on, it became obvious that the situation on the island was not the paradisal escapism he anticipated.

After tearing through the final few chapters and crying an unusual amount of tears for the death of a boy named Piggy who reminded him a disturbing amount of a young Longbottom, Draco no longer cared about who was in charge. His heart pained for this Jack character, and it wasn’t until the end that Draco realised just how much he saw of himself in him -- a mere boy who thirsted for influence over his peers but once given the opportunity, let it consume him and cause him to do things that he would later regret. In the end, Draco sympathised with the loss of his boyish innocence due to the savage choices he had made when thrown into a difficult situation.

The book had been emotionally taxing, but as a whole, Draco was rather fond of it. He hadn’t anticipated feeling quite as strong of a connection with a Muggle character in a Muggle book, but he supposed that was the magic of literature -- no wands required. Human experience was more universal than he had been raised to believe.

Since last night, Draco had moved on to reading _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe._ After _Lord of the Flies,_ a simple children’s book would be a welcomed change, especially if it meant he could laugh at the preposterous way the author portrayed witches.

He had only gotten through the first few chapters, but he was already intrigued by the tale of the Pevensie children. He was curious to learn more about this winter-trapped Narnia place, the evil White Witch that ruled over the land, and the mysterious wardrobe that transported Lucy there -- that is once he got over how much that last piece reminded him of the Vanishing Cabinet. So far, he’d encountered both the witch and the wardrobe, but the lion part of the book’s title was still unknown. If a bloody lion ended up saving the day, Draco was never going to forgive Hermione for recommending this novel!

Hours passed and the sun’s beams progressively crept their way higher until they intruded Draco’s vision. It must be nearing midday at this point. Typically by this hour, Draco was already begging for something interesting to do, but the books were continuing to be more than enough enjoyment. He wasn’t even sad about the fact that he wasn’t meeting with Hermione for lunch that day. She was most likely busy, and he had no doubt that she would owl him whenever her availability opened up again. And besides, reading the books she recommended almost made it feel like she was with him.

He was a little over halfway through the book when he heard footsteps pattering across the wooden floors. That was odd. The house elves always made sure not to disturb his reading, and his parents hardly ever entered the room. Much like many other rooms in the large manor, they mostly used the room for show, taking pride in their collection of rare wizarding texts but never taking the time to actually open them. The library had always been one of Draco’s havens specifically because he knew he would likely be alone.

And yet, here was Narcissa Malfoy, visiting their library.

Draco maintained a curious eye on her as she headed directly to the back wall of the library where the centuries-old clock was mounted. On its face showed the time -- a quarter past noon -- and the location of the Malfoy family members within the manor -- Lucius in his study and the other two in the library. Narcissa perked up with an alarmed startle when she turned around and discovered Draco in the chair.

“Spying on my location, Mother?” Draco asked, setting the book down on the table and quirking an eyebrow in her direction.

“Not spying. Merely looking for you, darling,” she corrected as she headed towards him. “I was simply curious if you’d like to join me for lunch downstairs.”

Draco narrowed his line of vision. The last time his mother had invited him somewhere, it hadn’t exactly ended well for him.

“Let me guess,” Draco retorted with the beginning traces of a grimace. “There’s some young pureblood witch waiting in the dining room, isn’t there?”

“Nothing of the sorts,” she breezed flippantly, dismissing his question with a blasé wave of the hand. Her eyes then settled on the books laying out on the table. “Reading again, are you, dear? I thought you were bored of all these books?”

Narcissa picked up the top book and slowly traced a finger over the cover. Draco’s heart hammered for a few beats on the off chance that his charm on the book hadn’t worked, but as Narcissa returned the novel to its original place, Draco faintly smiled to himself. He may be exerting more of his freedom, but he wasn’t daft enough to publically flaunt around a Muggle book on the off chance his parents would see. There was no need to stir unnecessary drama when he was already getting what he wanted.

“Thought I’d brush up on some Wizarding history,” Draco lied when Narcissa looked at him curiously.

Narcissa stared at her son as though not completely convinced, but then said, “Yes, well, I suppose you always did enjoy that topic.” She straightened herself out and lightened her gaze. “Anyway, would you care for lunch?”

Draco eyed her suspiciously. Something was off. “Not hungry,” he warily stated while trying to determine his mother’s true intentions. If there wasn’t a witch downstairs, surely his mother had other motives for wanting to dine together. And he wasn’t about to agree without knowing what she truly intended. He’d made that mistake before and wouldn’t repeat it.

He waited for his mother to insist, but it never came. Instead, she merely said, “Understandable. Then I will see you at dinner.”

With that final remark, Narcissa picked up the end of her robes and let him be in the library. Draco maintained a keen, watchful eye on her as she exited through the heavy wooden doors.

He still couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about the interaction hadn’t felt right. He supposed there was an infinitesimally slim chance that Narcissa really had come in hopes of a casual mother-son lunch, but that didn’t seem likely. She had been much too surprised when she had actually found him and had too readily accepted his rejection of her invitation. Besides, they already ate breakfast and dinner together on a daily basis. Wasn’t two meals already ample?

Draco decided not to let it bother him too much. Whatever her real reason was for wandering into the library no longer seemed to be an issue, so he was now free to return to his book in blissful solitude. The story had just shifted to Edmund’s point of view, and he much preferred wondering what Edmund would do next over pondering what his mother was really up to.

~*~*~

It was turning out to be quite the average Thursday at the firm. As was now Hermione’s typical routine, she came in an hour early, continued on a few of her projects, met with three different teams, and worked through lunch all before two in the afternoon. At this point, the fast-paced nature was becoming so second nature, it almost didn’t faze her anymore.

She was seated at her desk, labouring over the reading curriculum, when suddenly, her office door flung open and revealed a man with platinum blond hair and three books cradled under one arm.

“Draco? What are you --”

“Muggle library card,” he demanded, sticking his free hand out as he approached her desk.

Gretchen followed closely behind, an only semi-apologetic look on her face. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but he asked if this was your office, and I said yes, and then he --”

“It’s fine, Gretchen,” Hermione assured her. “He’s a friend. Although, I typically prefer when my friends at least _knock_ before storming into my office!”

“Yes, well, no time for formalities,” Draco dismissed, dropping the books on her desk and placing both hands on the edge of the oak surface. He slowly pushed his chest forward. “Muggle library card, _now,_ Granger.”

“That’s not how we get what we want,” Hermione teased with a wide smile as she rested her back in her chair. “You didn’t say the magic word.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine. Muggle library card, _please_.”

Hermione tsked. “I’m afraid that’s the wrong magic word. The correct answer there was, ‘Muggle library card, now, _Hermione_.’”

Draco leaned in closer from across her desk, his eyes narrowing in on her as he decreased the gap between them. “Oh, no. I warned you that in certain instances, you’ll always be Granger and seeing as which I’m currently frustrated with you for recommending not one but _two_ books that left me on a cliffhanger, your name right now is _Granger_. Now, if you’ll so kindly hand me that Muggle library card, Granger, _please._ ”

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she stood up from her chair and slowly made her way towards him. “And let’s just presume for a moment I _do_ give you my library card. How exactly do you intend on figuring out which books come next in the series if you don’t know how to use a Muggle library catalogue?”

“You don’t give me enough credit,” Draco said, pushing himself off the wooden desk with smug confidence. “I managed to find your office, didn’t I? And I can easily ask one of those Muggle librarians for assistance. But what I can’t do is sign up for one of those little plastic cards, so that leaves me with two options. Either you give me yours, or I’ll have no other choice than to throw you over my shoulder and bring you there with me.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_!” Hermione gasped.

Draco smirked. “You want to try me?”

He took two paces towards her and Hermione once again found herself with Draco in very close proximity to her. Her heart picked up speed as she felt the traces of his hot breath whisper over her skin, his intense gaze staring down at her. She couldn’t remember ever being this close him before, or at least she had never really taken notice of how deep a shade of grey his eyes got when there was something that he truly wanted. The look was all consuming, and Hermione felt her breath instinctively hitch before her senses returned to her and she pulled herself away.

“Well if you want to go with me, you’re just going to have to wait,” Hermione hastily said, starting to aimlessly shuffle the parchments on top of her desk. “I have a meeting in thirty minutes that --”

“That’s just been cancelled!”

Hermione and Draco’s heads both snapped towards the door where Gretchen was still standing. Had she been there the entire time?

Hermione gave her head a quick jerk. “What? But I thought Rutledge said --”

“Something else came up last minute,” Gretchen cut in, a smile starting to tug at the edges of her lips. “In fact, your whole afternoon is free.”

Hermione eyed Gretchen suspiciously, but that didn’t last long once Draco started speaking again.

“Would you look at that? Guess you’re stuck with me, Granger,” he said with a satisfied smirk. “Now, you wrap up whatever it is you’re doing in here, and I’ll wait in the lobby. But if you take longer than ten minutes, I’m coming back here and carrying you out of this office as promised and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

The second Draco closed the door behind him, Hermione turned to Gretchen.

“Rutledge cancelled?” Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes at her assistant. “That’s not typically like him.”

“I never said _he_ was the one who cancelled,” Gretchen returned with a grin. “As I said, something else came up last minute, and it looks to me like you have a more important engagement this afternoon.”

Gretchen shot her a wink as she made her way to the door.

“You can’t be serious!” Hermione exclaimed to little avail. “You’re imagining things, Gretchen! He’s just a --”

The door closed behind her before Hermione had a chance to finish. There Gretchen was again, just assuming things to be more than they really were! _Friends._ She and Draco were just _friends_.

But even so, Hermione supposed she could take the afternoon off. Merlin knows she deserved a break. And she’d never turn down an excuse to go to the library.

She pulled out her wand and briskly flicked it so all the parchments sorted themselves out into their proper piles before leaving her office, ignoring the pleased expression on Gretchen’s face as Hermione walked past her.

“Alright, Draco, you win,” Hermione surrendered as she joined him in the lobby. “But we’re stopping to get you a Turkish Delight on the way.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once again! I'm so excited to finally have a new chapter to share with all of you. And, as always, a massive thank you to all you lovely people who continue to follow along with this story. It means so much to me. Of course, I also have to thank the wonderful LightofEvolution who somehow always reads my mind and knows exactly how to make this story better. If you haven't yet, go check out her story School's Not Out For Summer. I hope you enjoy this next chapter and let me know what you think :)

Draco shoved his hands into the pockets of his Muggle London appropriate jeans where his recently borrowed books from the library had already been discreetly shrunk and stowed away. The sun that had previously peeked through the typical cloudy England sky was now obscured, and the early evening breeze wove its way down the narrow streets. He and Hermione had been aimlessly walking for over half an hour at this point, but Draco didn’t mind in the slightest. It wasn’t as if he was in a rush to get home.

“I’m just pointing out that it’s quite interesting that war is such a central aspect of all three books,” Draco continued with the discussion that he and Hermione had been engaged in since the moment they had stepped foot out of her office. The only lull had been when the Muggle librarian had stared them down for speaking too loudly in the otherwise silent atmosphere, but now that they had left the establishment, they were free to proceed completely unbridled.

Hermione briefly glanced up at him and grinned before returning her focus to the pavement in front of her. “This may come as a shock to you, but war isn’t wizard-kind exclusive,” she retorted, her mocking manner instantly apparent. “One could even argue that the wizarding style of war is outdated due to all the Muggle technological advances.”

Draco snorted. “I understand that you have a tendency to believe that people always know less than you and therefore feel the constant urge to educate others, but I had actually figured that first part out for myself,” he joked as they rounded a corner, their strides matching one another. “Yet that doesn’t mean I expected the topic to come up in three separate books, so a little warning would have been appreciated! _Especially_ since there’s a character referred to as the _Dark Lord_.”

“Believe it or not, Voldemort didn’t invent the term. In fact, Tolkien is often credited for coining it,” Hermione informed him, clearly not heeding to what he had just said. “Ever since the publication of _The Fellowship of the Rings_ in 1954 _,_ that title has often been used to refer to a villain who seeks to control the world around them through the assistance of their loyal followers. Which, if you think about it, is quite the fitting name for Voldemort to choose for himself.”

Typically, Draco was uncomfortable with any mention of the man his family used to blindly follow, but in this instance, he merely laughed in amusement. “Are you suggesting that during those years that Tom Riddle laid low after Hogwarts, he was off reading Muggle literature?”

Hermione chuckled, her own laughter joining his. “Of course not! Even he wasn’t _that_ big of a hypocrite! Probably just overheard the name somewhere. But it does conjure up a funny thought, doesn’t it?”

The mental image made Draco laugh more audibly, picturing a young Tom Riddle, pre-downward spiral into complete maniacal tendencies, casually kicking up his feet and reading _Lord of the Rings_ in his spare time between Horcrux creations and Dark Arts training. “Okay, I’ll give you that one,” he conceded, snorting a final short laugh through his nose. “Although, I will have to take away a point for you still being an insufferable know-it-all, so I’m afraid you’re back to a net of zero.”

“Well, that’s not fair!” Hermione said, intentionally bumping into him with her shoulder, her smile never flickering. “You clearly enjoyed the factoid, so I demand my point back!”

“Absolutely not,” Draco maintained. She arched an eyebrow at him, but he merely shrugged it off. “Sorry, Granger. I don’t make the rules.”

“Liar,” she taunted with a gentle elbow knock into his side. “Admit you found it interesting, and give me my point back.”

Draco shook his head. “I will never admit such a thing,” he retorted, determined to stand his ground even though they both knew that she was right. His grin widened as he peered down at her and soaked in the warmth her glimmering gaze. “Guess you’ll just have to learn how to control that pesky temptation of yours to share random tidbits of knowledge whenever they pop up into that clever brain of yours.”

Hermione turned around and started walking backwards, dropping her jaw in feigned disbelief. “ _Clever?”_ she repeated. “My, my, _Malfoy_. Is that a compliment I detect?”

“Alert the _Daily Prophet!_ Draco Malfoy spotted complimenting a Muggle-born!” he proclaimed, his booming voice echoing off the surrounding buildings. Hermione swatted her hand against his shoulder, trying to get him to lower his voice, but his words were mere gibberish to any passersby, so there wasn’t any harm. “I can see tomorrow’s headline now! _‘Breaking News: Malfoy Heir Compliments War Heroine.’_ And then just underneath, an exposé of every single witch I’m supposedly dating followed by a short paragraph speculating if Hell truly has frozen over.”

Hermione made a show of rolling her eyes, but her amusement remained apparent as she returned to walking in a normal direction. “You sure do think you’re funny don’t you?”

“Correction. I _know_ I’m funny,” he said with an assured grin. “But the real question is do _you_ find me funny?”

Hermione smiled at him tauntingly. “I will _never_ admit such a thing.”

~*~*~

There were few things that Hermione enjoyed more than a quality literature discussion, and so far, Draco had proven to be quite the intellectual counterpart — and a rather humorous one at that. She had always known him to be just behind her academically in Hogwarts — the brunette having secretly taken additional pride in beating him on nearly every exam — but doing well in school didn’t necessarily mean that someone also had the capacity to hold a stimulating conversation, let alone one that had lasted so long.

Whenever Hermione mentioned to Ron or Harry a book she had read, they typically made snide remarks about how she was the only person who cared so much about the novels. But was it that unusual that she craved someone to discuss her books with? Half the fun of reading was sharing your thoughts once you had finished that final page. Yet after so many years, she had learned to accept that this would always be her two best friends’ reaction. Compared to that, talking to Draco was a refreshing change. Not only had she found someone who shared her appreciation of books and could engage in a deep, meaningful conversation, but he also kept her laughing along the way.

She and Draco lazily strolled through the Muggle London streets until they arrived at Hermione’s favourite square only a few blocks away from her flat. The autumn leaves had begun to turn subtle shades of red, orange, and yellow, and the soft breeze rattled a few loose, causing them to slowly cascade down onto the grass below. Several other people were scattered across the square’s lawn, all savouring one of the final pleasant afternoons of the year.

Not too far away, Hermione spotted a patch of open grass underneath one of the nearby trees. “Why don’t we sit for a bit?” she proposed.

“About bloody time!” Draco instantly responded, appearing all too relieved at her suggestion. “My feet started aching around fifteen minutes ago, and I’ve been seriously contemplating if it was worth the risk to cast a Cushioning Charm on them!”

Hermione had barely stepped off the pavement and onto the square when she felt the sudden pressure of Draco’s fingertips pressing into her waist, jerking her closer to him. Hermione’s heart temporarily faltered at the unexpected touch and once she had regained her footing, looked up at him in a mixture of shock and bewilderment. But as quickly as his hand had gripped her, it was gone.

“Careful, there, Granger,” he warned, motioning his chin towards the evidence of where a Muggle hadn’t cleaned up after their pet. “You’re lucky I’m more observant than you, or else you’d have a proper mess on your shoes right now.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said earnestly but then glanced up at him. “Although, I hope you don’t expect a medal for being considerate.”

Draco beamed at her. “No medal necessary. Your gratitude is sufficient.”

When they reached the shaded spot under the tree, Draco removed his jacket and spread it out on the ground. He then sat on the grass and leaned back so that his blond head rested directly in the green blades, missing the jacket completely. Upon first assessment, Hermione stared at the untouched jacket with confusion, determined that Draco was going to adjust his position so that his head rested on top of the fabric, but it never came. He simply remained in his reclined position, his eyelids slowly falling shut.

And then it became clear to her -- he had laid out the jacket for her.

After waiting a few more seconds just to make sure that really was Draco’s intention, Hermione finally took her seat. She supposed being raised in a Pureblood family came with certain expectations and one of them was that he was always a proper gentleman. Making sure that she didn’t step in anything unsavoury and offering his jacket as a blanket were merely extensions of those old-school manners. It was slightly antiquated and fell a bit too strictly along traditional gender roles for Hermione’s usual taste, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate the simple gestures.

Draco’s eyes slowly reopened as he began to fish around in his pocket for something. A few moments later, he revealed a small confectionary bag, pulling out his third Turkish delight of the afternoon.

He extended the bag in her direction. “Want one?” he asked, even though she had turned him down both of the previous times he had offered.

“Still no,” she passed. “You’re just about the only person I know who actually enjoys them,” Hermione commented with a short laugh and a shake of her head as she looked down at him from her seated position. “I was convinced you’d think they were a disappointment after how much they were built up in the book!”

Draco swallowed his bite and then shrugged. “Perhaps not ‘betray my family’ good, but delectable nonetheless.”

When he finished the rest of the sweet, his eyes fell closed once more and he released a gentle hum, presumably savouring the fresh fall air sweeping over him. As he blissfully laid there, a peaceful silence fell between them for the first time that day. Hermione considered filling it with one of the many thoughts that ran through her always busy mind, but she peered down at Draco and reconsidered, taking a moment to simply appreciate his presence instead.

It really was nice spending so much time with Draco. With work being so perpetually stressful, she was grateful to have someone who pulled her away from the insanity. Of course, she could always rely on Ron and Harry to serve a similar role, but there was something different about Draco — and it was more than just the fact that they sometimes discussed books together. Being with him made her feel more… herself. Like she didn’t need to be concerned about what he thought about her or her opinions, which was a rather odd thought when one considered that he used to torment her solely because of who she innately was. But he had clearly moved beyond that antagonistic nature -- a fact Hermione didn’t take for granted.

Sitting there with him in the park in the middle of the square, Hermione was completely content, and it appeared as if Draco was too. A small part of her wondered what it would have been like if there had never been a war and the two of them had gotten to be friends during their time at Hogwarts. Or did the war need to happen so that Draco could come to his senses and realise the grave consequences of his mistakes?

In the end, she supposed it didn’t make a difference contemplating what could have been. All that mattered was that they had managed to move past their turbulent history and had become friends.

Draco still seemed perfectly at ease, and for a brief moment, Hermione considered laying down beside him. He certainly made it look relaxing. She could even ball up his jacket for them to share as a pillow. But if she dared closed her eyes, Hermione would likely fall asleep in the middle of the square. Her body was still operating on minimal sleep, so she ultimately couldn’t risk it, even if he did make it look so incredibly tempting.

So instead Hermione settled on her second choice. The witch pulled out of a couple items from her trusted beaded bag and began writing down some of the highlights from their conversation. Over the past hour or so, Draco had made a few comments about the books that she thought were particularly perceptive that even she hadn’t thought of. Granted, she hadn’t read any of them in several years and had never read them in such quick succession like he just had, but she was still impressed by his ability to cross-analyse characters and point out related themes among all three novels.

And then there were the moments of the conversation that she merely enjoyed because of the fire Draco had spoken with when he had said it. He’d gone on for ten minutes arguing that C.S. Lewis was either a Squib or had a wizard friend with loose lips, because there was no way that the author just _happened_ to be so eerily accurate with his use of magical elements, citing that the wardrobe was clearly inspired by Vanishing Cabinets and that the use of prophecies was near identical to that in the Wizarding world.

But her favourite part of the afternoon had been when he had ranted about how ridiculous it was that a lion always saves the day. Hermione had full-heartedly laughed as he got particularly heated about the subject. Apparently, it was easier to get over his qualms of blood status than it was to forgo old house rivalries.

There was a rustling from beside her as Draco began to stir, resting both hands over his eyes. “Whatever it is you’re mulling over in your brain, I need you to stop. I can practically hear you thinking,” he complained, but his subtle teasing tone made it apparent that he wasn’t totally sincere.

Hermione shushed him, deciding to give him a hard time in return. “Well now that you’ve distracted me, I’ll have to think twice as hard to remember what it was I wanted to write down,” she toyed. “I can’t concentrate if you’re talking!”

“And I can’t relax if you’re thinking so loud!”

Hermione playfully kicked him, prompting Draco to curl onto his side and clamp a hand around the point of contact.

“Hey!” he cried. “I’m trying to rest here!”

“Too bad,” she tormented.

She repeated the motion, but Draco was much more prepared to respond this time. He grabbed hold of her leg, prompting a squeal out of Hermione as her back fell onto the ground with a thud. Not accepting defeat, Hermione twisted and turned until she wrangled herself free and was able to continue with her short jabs at him.

Not long after, Draco, now fully awake, threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! You win!” he declared as he propped himself up. “Geez, Granger. That’s not a very nice way to treat the man who helped you skive out of work this afternoon!”

“Oh, please,” Hermione dismissed, ripping a handful of grass out of the ground and throwing it at him. “You _insisted_ on me leaving early!”

Draco chuckled as he brushed a blade of grass off his shoulder. “I’m not denying it. I’m just saying you should be more appreciative of the fact that you’re here with me instead of that boring meeting you initially had scheduled.”

He lifted an eyebrow as if daring her to argue otherwise. Hermione did her best to ignore his piercing grey stare and distracted herself by sweeping her fingers through his hair to help remove a few stray pieces of grass that remained lodged in his fringes. But as she pulled away, his gaze still lingered, and Hermione had to bite down on the inside of her lip to prevent her smile from giving her agreement away.

He _may_ have a point. But, of course, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him so. The man was already too smug as is.

But then his attention flickered away from her, curiosity coming over him as he noticed the items rested next to Hermione’s knees. “Is this what you’ve been writing in? And what is that grey tubular thing?”

Hermione looked down at her notepad and pen. Sometimes it was so easy to forget how little he knew about the Muggle world. “This right here is a notepad. Muggle version of blank parchment that’s been bound together,” she explained, picking up the spiralled stack of papers. “And this is a pen. It’s one of the tools that Muggles use to write. They’re much more convenient to travel around with than a quill and inkwell, so I keep one on me. See?” Hermione turned to a blank page in her notepad and doodled swirls across the page. “The ink is already inside the plastic tube, so there’s no need to re-dip every other word.”

Hermione extended the pen in his direction, and Draco brought it close to his eyes to examine. When he handed it back to her, he gave an impressed nod. “Got to hand it to the Muggles. Some of their inventions aren’t complete rubbish.”

Off in the distance, six dings of a nearby church bell travelled towards them. Draco’s head snapped in their direction, his eyes turning wide at the sound.

“It can’t seriously be six already?”

“I guess so,” Hermione answered, equally surprised to learn that it was so late. Surely it hadn’t been _that_ long since they had left her office!

Draco fell back into the grass and groaned. “I don’t want to go home,” he griped.

“Then don’t,” Hermione said simply. Even though they had apparently already spent several hours together, she wasn’t ready to call it an evening just yet, and evidently he wasn’t either. “I mean, no one’s forcing you to leave.”

Draco’s groan grew louder, running both hands down the length of his face. “Perhaps not physically, but my mother would likely send out a search party if I dare miss dinner again.”

A million questions crossed Hermione’s mind, but now didn’t feel like the time to inquire about the inner workings of the Malfoy family and their apparent dinner expectations. She’d just have to save that for a future date.

 _As in a future day on the calendar_ , she clarified to herself, imagining the ridiculous comment Gretchen would assuredly say if she had heard Hermione utter that word.

Draco drew in a deep breath and pushed himself off the ground. When he had stood up, he extended a hand down to Hermione to help her to her feet.

“I guess this means I’ll just have to drag you out here again someday soon,” Draco concluded as Hermione brushed off the trousers she had worn under her work robes. “At the rate I’m going, I’ll be barging into your office the same time Monday afternoon demanding another trip to the library.”

Hermione looked at him incredulously. “I know these novels aren’t terribly long, but how in the name of Merlin are you getting through them so quickly?”

Draco chuckled in amusement. “Says the witch who finished my book in less than twenty-four hours.”

“That was different,” she defended, feeling a sudden wave of heat flush her cheeks. “Your book was about a topic that personally affected me. And that was a one time thing!”

Draco arched a pale eyebrow. “You mean to tell me that Bookworm Granger wouldn’t spend all day reading if she had no other obligations?”

“Of course I would spend _some_ days doing that, but not every day! Surely you have better things to do besides only reading the books I recommend!”

“One would think. Especially with me being a first-class, best-selling author and whatnot,” he quipped with a carefree grin. “And yet, in some ways, I’m a mere peasant, wasting half my day just waiting until I get to see you.”

Hermione snorted. As if there was even a _chance_ she’d believe that!

But as she prepared to make some sort of snarky remark about the ridiculousness of his statement, her eyes briefly met his. Hidden beneath his teasing facade, Hermione could just barely detect a subtle hint of sincerity and swallowed her comment before it escaped her lips.

Come to think of it, she really didn’t know what Draco did outside of their recurring rendezvous. When their conversations hadn’t been consumed with the discussion of books, they had been primarily focused on either her work or his -- but never on what he did outside of that. Did he still play Quidditch? Keep in contact with any of his old housemates? Hermione sincerely didn’t know.

“If that’s true, then we need to get you a hobby,” she concluded, praying that her response sufficiently addressed his sentiment. Meanwhile, in the back of her mind, she found herself increasingly hoping that this wasn’t just another example of him messing with her.

But to her relief, Draco carried on with the conversation, oblivious to the questions darting across her brain. “I expect a full list of options the next time we meet,” he said. “I would entertain your recommendations now, but I really do need to get back to the Manor, and knowing you, you would prattle on for twenty minutes, so we better head back to Diagon Alley before you get carried away.”

He had barely finished his thought when he began walking towards the Leaky Cauldron, presumably expecting Hermione to follow him, but he quickly noticed that she was no longer at his side. He turned back at her in confusion, the witch still standing in the same spot in the middle of the square.

“I’m actually headed in this direction,” she said, pointing the opposite way.

His eyebrows knitted together. “You live in Muggle London?”

“Well, yes,” Hermione answered. “I know that’s not typical, but after the war, I wanted to return to some of my Muggle roots and be closer to my parents,” she explained with a single shrug. She then gave Draco a tight-lipped a smile. “Plus it has the wonderful perk of allowing me to have a Muggle library card.”

“In that case, I don’t have any objections,” Draco returned with a grin of his own. “How far away is it from here?’

“Only about three blocks or so.”

Draco pulled a pocket watch out of his robes, only glancing at it for a fraction of a second before returning it. “Eh, I’ve got time. I’ll walk you home.”

“That really isn’t necessary,” Hermione insisted. “I am perfectly capable of walking a few blocks on my own.”

Draco smiled. “I have no doubt you are. But just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to.”

...

“Well, this is me,” Hermione said when they reached the front of her building. Hermione dug into her beaded bag a tad longer than usual and eventually retrieved the set of keys to her flat. The metal jingled as she mindlessly fiddled with them between her hands.

“I had fun today,” she said, brushing some of her curls behind her ear as the breeze picked up. “But the next time we do this, I may have to introduce you to a Muggle bookstore.”

Draco immediately shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he countered. “That’s a dealbreaker.”

“And why’s that?”

“Simple,” he responded with a taunting grin. “Once you take me to a Muggle bookstore and teach me how to use Muggle currency and all that, I’d be able to go there myself, thus eliminating my need to pester you for your library card, and where’s the fun in that?”

Hermione kept her focus on her keys and pressed her lips together to hide her amusement. No, she supposed that wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining.

She may have given him a hard time for the way he had stormed into her office earlier that afternoon, but she was ultimately glad that he did. And as strange as it was to admit, she really didn’t want to say goodbye to Draco. His promise of another outing on Monday seemed so far off in the future.

“Well, I suppose I can’t delay this dinner much longer, can I?” he said with a tinge of remorse, but his expression quickly shifted into a smirk. “But I assure you, Granger, that you can’t keep me away from you for too long.”

He shot her a parting wink, and Hermione bit down at her bottom lip as he turned away from her and started back towards Diagon Alley.

Monday was _definitely_ too far away.

“Draco, wait!”

He paused in his tracks, and once Hermione caught up to him, she reached into her beaded bag, pulled out her pen, and then grabbed his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked as the pen’s tip connected with the palm of his hand.

He flinched at the unfamiliar tickling sensation of the ballpoint running over his skin as Hermione wrote her message. When she pulled away, he examined the finished product.

“ _‘Tomorrow: Lunch with Granger,’_ huh?” he read with a pleased look. “What happened to your insistence that I call you Hermione?”

“Well, isn’t that what you’ve been calling me today? All because _someone_ was frustrated with me because he couldn’t handle waiting a few hours to know what happens next in the books?”

Draco chuckled. “Yes, but I have the books now, so I suppose I can let you off the hook.” He then returned his attention to the words on his hand, momentary concern glossing over him. “This isn’t permanent, though, is it?"

“Don’t worry. It comes off fairly easy with soap and water,” Hermione assured him. “But be careful if I ever introduce permanent markers to you!”

“Let’s just stick to one Muggle writing instrument at a time,” he remarked. “Now, if you don’t stop distracting me, my mother _will_ venture into Muggle London and personally track me down, and I can promise you that’s the _last_ thing either of us wants!”

And with that, they once more exchanged their farewells, and Hermione watched Draco as long as she could until he disappeared around the next block.

Only eighteen more hours until she got to see him again.

And in the meantime, she better get started on that potential hobby list.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for your patience between chapter uploads. My goal is to hopefully return to a more regular update schedule, but at the same time, I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer for an update, so here you go :) I appreciate all the feedback I got on the last chapter, and your kind words and excitement kept me motivated when working on this current chapter.
> 
> And of course, the world's biggest thank you to LightofEvolution who keeps me mentally sane and spent half an hour researching different types of wood so we would find the perfect material for the doors of Malfoy Manor. She is an absolute gem <3
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think!

The green flames settled into the embers below Draco’s feet as he brushed the lingering ashes off his robes and stepped into the manor. He hadn’t been daft enough to keep his Muggle jeans on before returning home -- his mother didn’t need any more reasons to be suspicious of his afternoon activities. Yet if she caught sight of him now, he’d have a difficult time justifying the wide grin that was plastered across his features.

Even the prospect of his parents’ disapproval about his tardy arrival couldn’t squash the extra spring to Draco’s step. His afternoon with Hermione had been perfectly blissful, and the best part was, the promise of lunch with her tomorrow meant that his high spirits would remain through then and into the weekend -- as long as he survived dinner first.

As the distance between him and his parents crept towards nonexistent, Draco brainstormed what he would say if his parents pressed for a reason for his lateness. He could easily pretend that he had lost time reading a book -- a believable enough lie considering that his mother had recently spotted him in the manor’s library. Perhaps he’d even indulge his father and claim that he had been researching potential job leads. Or if all else failed, Draco could rely on the timeless classic that he had taken a pre-supper snooze and hadn’t woken up in time.

But regardless of what he said, one thing was certain: Hermione’s name would _not_ escape his lips.

At dreaded last, Draco reached the large ebony doors that led to the dining room. He gripped the brass handle, the cool metal reminding him of the unappealing atmosphere that awaited him on the other side. No longer was he surrounded by the serene Muggle park with Hermione next to him, her contagious smile enough to erase any other thoughts from his mind. He’d give nearly anything to steal a couple more hours with her, but he didn’t much feel like enduring his father’s inevitable wrath if he dared defy one of his parents’ expectations. Merlin knew he was already pushing the limits by risking being friends with Hermione, but as Draco had thought after the Leaky Cauldron just two weeks prior, what his parents didn’t know, didn’t get him disowned, and so far, his parents remained blissfully unaware, and Draco had every intention of keeping it that way.

So with a deep breath, Draco tucked away his smile and resolved to secure the happy memories of his afternoon locked inside. And whatever happened during the meal, he refused to let it ruin his mood.

The second Draco pulled open the doors, he was greeted with the sharp synchronised turns of his parents’ heads and two accompanying glares.

Ah, yes. Family dinner as usual.

“You’re late,” Lucius promptly criticised, staring Draco down as he took his usual seat in the middle of the elongated table.

“Just a few minutes, Father. Nothing to get your wand in a knot about.”

If his father said something in return, Draco didn’t bother to register it, instead directing his attention to the first course of the meal that was already served. As his fork pierced through the leaves of lettuce, he could feel his father’s menacing glare, but Draco ignored it as if it was a mere fly that wouldn’t stop pestering him. The further he engaged in the situation, the more sparks it would incite, so it was best to leave it alone and retreat back into his thoughts while his parents resumed whatever they had been conversing about prior to his arrival.

Draco faintly smiled to himself as he tuned out his surroundings and placed a gentle hand over his pocket where the two Muggle library books were still safely shrunk and stored. It reminded him of the childish thrill of disobeying his parents when he had been no older than five and had routinely convinced one of the house elves to sneak him an extra sweet before dinner which Draco would keep in his robes pocket for later. As soon as the meal concluded, he would then race up to the room and devour the sweet, infinitely pleased with himself for successfully tricking his parents.

Yet that paled in comparison to the secret he now so dearly held.

Once the final course was cleared, Draco would be free to return to his room and spend the night immersed in the fantastical worlds that Hermione had introduced him to. Naturally, he was eager to read the books and discover what the future held for the Pevensie children as well as Frodo and Sam now that they had embarked on their adventure to Mordor, but if he was being honest, he was more excited to finish them. The quicker he reached the last page, the sooner he would get to discuss the books with Hermione.

Maybe he’d surprise her and already have one completed before lunch tomorrow so that they could spend another afternoon discussing a novel. Or perhaps it’d be better if he only read part of the book tonight so they could go into greater depth, getting to focus on a smaller portion rather than trying to cram an entire book’s discourse into an hour-long break. Then they could meet again on Monday to discuss the latter half of the book. Or even Saturday if she was free. There was no rule limiting them to weekdays.

“Draco Lucius!”

The sharp hiss of his mother’s tone dragged him back to his present company. It had never boded well when his mother used both his first and middle name, and the annoyed expression on her face indicated that this was not the first time that she had tried to get his attention.

But the thing that made any trace of Draco’s joyous mood fade into the darkness was the envelope she held in her hand.

Merlin’s fucking tit. Another bloody proposition letter.

How trapped in his thoughts had he been that he hadn’t even noticed the arrival of an owl?

“Who is it this time?” He did his best to ask without making his disdain too apparent.

“Alesia Burke. Apparently their family was out of the country on holiday, so they are just now receiving word of your availability,” Narcissa returned as her eyes grazed down the parchment. When she reached the end, the now predictable subsequent grin stretched across her lips. “Well, this is another respectable prospect for you, dear. Do me a favour and hand me the box?”

Draco begrudgingly made his way to the chest and retrieved the jewelled box containing the rest of the letters that had accumulated over the past week and a half. If given an option, Draco would much rather pull them all out and throw them into the fire one by one and watch the parchments wither into ashes. Yet he resisted this growing urge and followed his mother’s directions.

He placed the box next to her dinner plate, but as he tried to pull away, his mother’s slim fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“What’s this written on your hand? ‘ _Tomorrow. Lunch with Gr-’”_

Draco tugged his arm out of her grasp before she read too much, but he feared it was already too late. Narcissa’s eyebrows came together as she peered up at him curiously while Draco frantically licked his thumb and rubbed the Muggle ink off the palm of his hand.

“And who exactly are you getting lunch with that you’re trying to keep from us?” Narcissa asked, though it sounded more like a demand than a polite question.

“I’d like to know as well,” his father’s voice echoed from the other end of the table. “Care to explain what all that was about?”

Draco’s heart and brain were both thrust into equally panicked frenzies. The last thing he needed right now was for his parents to find out about him and Hermione. He knew he had every bloody right to have lunch with whichever damn witch he pleased, yet the pressure from his father’s stern glare and the potential of his resulting reaction reminded Draco why it was vital that he keep his luncheons private. Everything else from the day that had led up to this moment had been perfect, and he’d be damned if he was going to risk losing lunch with her tomorrow or any other day for that matter.

So Draco scrambled and settled with the first logical explanation he could supply.

“Gringotts,” Draco said. “I have an informational lunch meeting with them tomorrow to discuss potential employment.”

Silence filled the room for several seconds as both parents kept watchful looks on their son as if making their own personal assessments on whether or not he was telling the truth, until Narcissa finally spoke.

“Shame,” she said with an unnaturally heavy sigh. “For a moment, I thought there was a chance you had reached out to one of the Greengrass daughters and were considering one of them.”

Lucius scoffed. “Of course it’s not a date with a witch. That would require Draco to actually do something on that front.”

 _And that would require Draco to actually_ want _to do something on that front_.

But as much as Draco itched to say something spiteful in return, he once again forced himself to swallow his resentment, remembering all too clearly his father’s reaction when Draco had let slip the comment about Helena Fawley’s father not being a Death Eater. Some things were better left unsaid.

“Your father’s right, Draco. It’s far past time for you to make initial decisions, and there are plenty of lovely options here for you,” Narcissa said as Draco bitterly returned to his seat. She shuffled through the stack of parchments, none of which Draco had ever bothered to read for himself. “I believe it’s the younger Greengrass that her father sent a letter on behalf of. Astoria, if I’m not mistaken?”

She continued to flip through the letters and list off names, yet not a single one caught Draco’s interest until he detected his mother's tone shift to that of pitied amusement.

“Oh, I forgot that Sylvia Selwyn sent a letter. I don’t know who they think they’re fooling. Although, I suppose you have to give them credit for repeatedly trying.”

Lucius’s scoff was even louder this time. “I must disagree. They’re wasting our time even bothering to owl something. They should know better at this point.”

“And what’s wrong with her?” Draco piped up with his first sincere interest in one of the letters, even if it was only because he was curious what would warrant such a dismissive reaction from his parents.

“The rest of the Selwyn family may be considered a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but everyone knows her great-great-grandfather on her mother’s side was a blood-traitor,” Narcissa explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Draco couldn’t resist the roll of his eyes or the next words that slipped out of his mouth. “Surely that’s pureblood enough.”

His statement was met with the clink of silverware falling onto fine china followed by another bout of uncomfortable silence.

The sound of wooden legs scraping against marble floor broke the stillness as Lucius shifted in his chair, his firm glare plastered in Draco’s direction. “What did you just say?” he demanded.

His father’s commanding tone sent a chill down Draco’s spine, but the words were already out in the open, and there was no taking them back. Draco was far too familiar with refraining from voicing his sincere opinions due to cowardice, even in this very conversation, so perhaps it was time he actually stood up for something.

“I _said,_ surely that’s pureblood enough,” Draco repeated, his words stronger the second time around.

“Draco!” Narcissa exclaimed with clear shock.

Lucius rose from his seat and placed two firm hands on the edge of the table. “And since when has the definition of pureblood been so fluid to you?”

Draco casually shrugged to make it appear as if debating this topic was of no great consequence, but it was merely an attempt to maintain the illusion that his heart wasn’t hammering faster than it had during any Quidditch match he’d ever played. Draco couldn’t remember ever vocally disagreeing with his father before, let alone on something as important to their family as blood status, but the words had tumbled out of him, and now that the floodgates were open, it was near impossible to rein it back in.

“Forgive me if my maths are a bit off, but even if her great-great-grandmother was a Muggle-born, that would make her only a sixteenth Muggle-born, which seems fairly infinitesimal to me.”

“That’s not how this works,” Lucius snapped in response.

Maintaining any semblance of casualness was becoming increasingly difficult, and Draco could feel his pent-up anger and frustration boiling to the surface. “So that’s it then?” he spat. “I need to pick my lifelong partner and future mother to any children I may have out of these twenty-some odd witches? And what if I meet with every single one of these women and none of them strike my fancy? Or should I reach over now and pick one at random just to get this ordeal over with?”

Lucius’s upper lip curled in obvious dismay. “You wouldn’t know if any of these witches were of interest seeing as you haven’t bothered to meet with a single one of them! Your mother and I can only do so much if you’re not putting in the effort to help.”

“To help with what?” Draco near shouted. “Get me married against my wishes?” He gripped the roots of his hair and any pretence of ambivalence was thoroughly shattered. “Don’t act like you’re doing me some big favour! We all know why you’re really doing this.”

“Draco!” came the shocked utterance of his mother, but Lucius held up a firm hand before she could say anything more.

“No, no,” the Malfoy family patriarch snarled. “Let the boy say his piece.”

Draco had had enough.

Enough of sitting by idly saying nothing. Enough of holding back his opinions.

And enough of his father treating him like a boy who couldn’t make his own decisions.

Lucius wanted him to speak his piece? Well, he’d give it to him.

“I am not your pawn to regain your social standing,” Draco said firmly, clearly enunciating each word so there would be no confusion about his resolve. “Not once have you asked if I even _want_ to get married right now. You two made that decision for me, just like _this_.” He pulled up the sleeve of his robes, revealing the faded serpent that would forever taint his skin.

Narcissa’s eyes grew wide as they fell upon the mark. “That wasn’t our decision either.”

“Perhaps not, but it was your choices that forced me into that situation, wasn’t it, Father?”

The two men glared at one another with pure contempt burgeoning in both of their expressions.

“I think that’s enough of this conversation for the evening,” Narcissa said, trying to placate the situation. “Why don’t we return to our dinners?”

Lucius scowled, not once letting his glare stray away from Draco. “Not yet. It seems your son wants to ruin another meal, so why don’t we let him?”

“Oh, yes! Blame it all on me even though every conversation the past two weeks has cycled back to these damn bloody letters!” Draco fumed.

“This really is in your best interest, dear,” Narcissa tried to rationalise, perhaps concluding that Draco was the more likely party to stand down, but her attempt proved fruitless. By now, she should have accepted that there was little she could do to reverse the antagonism that had begun to suffocate the dining room, yet that didn’t stop her from trying. “If you don’t marry soon, the best options will already be accounted for. As you know, it is common for purebloods to wed young. Your father and I were not much older than yourself when we got engaged.”

Draco huffed, a humourless laugh escaping his lips. “I must have forgotten the part where your youths were ruined fighting a war you didn’t volunteer for and then spent two and a half years hidden away at home, not getting to enjoy your young adulthoods and newfound freedom. Oh, wait, my mistake! That was _me.”_

The table shook as Lucius slammed his palms against the table, causing the centuries-old fine china to rattle at the disturbance.

“That’s enough!” Lucius ordered, his breaths growing increasingly shallower as he continued to glare at his son. “You are a Malfoy, and there are certain expectations that come with the honour of holding this name. As the last person in the line, you have a responsibility to not only me and your mother but to everyone else who came before you. You will marry a pureblood -- an _actual_ pureblood, not one that suits your definition.” He narrowed his eyes as he leaned across the table. “Do I make myself clear?”

“And what if --”

“This is not a discussion,” Lucius maintained. “This is and always will be the expectation.”

Draco felt his fingernails claw into his palm as he watched his father reclaim his seat at the head of the table and casually return the cloth napkin over his lap -- the clear indication that he considered the conversation to be over. Yet Draco’s head was still spinning with a myriad of thoughts and emotions, none of which were helping to suppress the animosity that was building inside of him like a volcano about to erupt. Evidently it didn’t matter that Draco still had plenty he wanted to say. As was another beloved Malfoy family tradition, what Father decided was the law of the household, and Lucius had already made up his mind.

Well, Draco was bloody sick of it.

Unable to bear being in the same room as his father any longer, Draco forcefully pushed back his chair and slammed his napkin next to his barely touched salad before storming towards the door.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Lucius demanded.

“Anywhere but here,” Draco clipped. “Apparently I’m just ruining dinner, so you’ll now be free to enjoy the rest of your meal in peace.”

He only briefly caught a glimpse of his mother’s incredulous expression before Draco yanked open the ebony doors and proceeded down the candlelit corridors and up the stairwell to his bedroom. Once inside his room, Draco locked the door with a Sealing Charm and released his pent-up anger with a long, frustrated groan and a sharp kick to his dresser. The framed photograph of him and his parents at the Quidditch World Cup that typically rested on top of the dresser teetered off the edge and crashed onto the wooden floorboards, causing the glass to shatter.

Draco ignored the mess and kept two clenched fists at his sides as he paced back and forth across the length of his bedroom, his mind in disarray. How foolish had he been to think there was even a chance he’d be able to change his father’s mind on this? Of course Lucius wouldn’t waver on the expectation that Draco marry a pureblood! Draco had known and accepted (and originally agreed with) this his entire life, so why was _this_ the thing he had felt the need to fight his father on? It wasn’t like he had another witch in mind that he’d rather marry instead!

Yet Draco couldn’t squash the rage that lingered in every inch of his body. He was furious -- furious with his father for continually refusing to listen to him but also with himself. Despite Draco’s initial resolve not to let whatever happened at dinner affect him, his father had still gotten under his skin and was on the verge of spoiling his entire day.

But Draco couldn’t let his father have that control over him.

He tried to cling onto his memories of that afternoon and leave that disastrous dinner at the other end of the manor where it belonged. He desperately needed to suppress his anger and return to that happiness that had consumed him the entire time he had been with Hermione, but that was proving easier said than done. Not even crashing onto his mattress and reading the first few pages of _The Two Towers_ had been able to erase the thundercloud that obscured his thoughts. So Draco resigned himself to resuming his pacing when suddenly there was a knock on his door.

“We need to talk,” said the voice from the other side of the locked barrier.

Draco sucked in a breath and clamped his eyes closed. “I’m not in the mood, Mother.”

He retrieved his wand to put a Silencing Charm on the door, but his mother’s response was quicker.

“You don’t honestly expect me to believe you really have lunch with Gringotts tomorrow, do you?”

The heated feelings that had been coursing through his veins finally dissipated but was promptly replaced with apprehension. Draco opened his mouth to formulate another credible lie, but Narcissa continued before he was able to utter a sound.

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me and your father,” she said. “You may think you’re clever enough to get away with these secret luncheons of yours, but you forget who raised you.”

Draco’s heart froze. She knew about the luncheons.  And if she hadn't yet found out who with, it wouldn't take her long to piece it all together.

Before Narcissa could ask any more questions or Draco said anything that would further incriminate him, he flicked his wand towards the door so that no further words could come in or out.

He fell back onto his bed and placed both hands over his eyes, trying not to let the panic consume him.  For a flicker of a moment, Draco considered cancelling his and Hermione’s plans for tomorrow, but quickly dismissed the idea. No, he wouldn’t let fear dictate his decisions.

Nothing would stop Draco from attending his lunch with Hermione. Right now, he needed to see her more than ever.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! An update without waiting a month? What is this madness? 
> 
> As always, a huge thank you to everyone who is reading. Your continued support really motivates me to keep going with this fic! And I couldn't let a chapter go by without thanking the incredible LightofEvolution who recommends you grab a bowl of popcorn before sitting down to read this one.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Hermione had only recently returned to her office after the several hours long meeting with Rutledge when Gretchen appeared in her door frame. 

“Someone didn’t come back yesterday afternoon,” she teased.

“You told me the rest of my afternoon was free!” Hermione defended, setting down the parchment she had been reviewing.

Gretchen tauntingly grinned as she stepped fully into Hermione’s office and closed the door behind her. “Yes, but a trip to the library doesn’t take three hours. Knowing you, I would have bet my last knut that you would come back here whenever you finished. Unless you were otherwise engaged?”

She quirked a suggestive eyebrow, and it took a few seconds for Hermione to realise what she was insinuating.

“Absolutely not!” Hermione rashly asserted, her cheeks involuntarily flushing red at such a ridiculous thought. “How many times do I need to tell you? Draco and I are just --”

“Let’s talk about _that_ shall we?” Gretchen pressed. “Draco Malfoy is your little lunch companion, huh?”

Hermione huffed. “If you’re going to make some comment about his and my past, I’ll let you know that --”

Gretchen threw her hands up to indicate her good intentions. “I get it! The war was years ago, and you both have moved on. You don’t need to defend anything to me. I read his book, as I assume you have as well. I mean, honestly, who in the Wizarding World hasn’t?”

 _Besides Ron and Harry?_ Hermione thought.

“Yes, well, the book did sell quite well,” she said bluntly before returning her attention to the parchment she had been reading before Gretchen came in. Hermione hoped Gretchen would get the hint that Hermione would prefer to drop the subject, but if she caught on, Gretchen decided to ignore it.

“I’m just surprised to discover he’s the one you’re spending so much time with considering he’s supposedly out there looking for the future Mrs Malfoy.” She smirked. “Or perhaps he’s already found her.”

“Gretchen!” Hermione cried, completely blindsided by the remark. She knew that Gretchen enjoyed pushing the limits when it came to teasing Hermione about her and Draco’s friendship, but that crossed the line!

“What!” Gretchen returned with an unapologetic smile. “Surely you saw that _Daily Prophet_ article as well. It was plastered across the front page. And you must admit that he is quite the pretty wizard!”

Hermione felt the heat spread from her cheeks down her neck. “While I can see how _some_ witches find him attractive, it is not like that between us. He and I are --”

“Let me guess. _Just friends?”_ Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, but I know what I saw yesterday, and I don’t have any _friends_ who look at me the way that he looks at you.”

Thankfully, there was a knock on the door, and Hermione had never been more relieved for an interruption in her life. To her surprise, it was Harry who opened the door.

“Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“Not at all,” Hermione said. She raised an eyebrow in Gretchen’s direction. “We were just wrapping up.”

Gretchen appeared to be biting back another smile as she made her way to the door. “The denial will end eventually,” she cooed as she gave Harry a nod and exited Hermione’s office.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh as Harry settled in the chair on the opposite of her desk. “What was that all about?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione eschewed. “Gretchen’s had a bit of an imagination issue lately, and it’s proven to be quite difficult to control.”

“On a scale from one to Luna insisting that Nargles are real, how imaginary are we talking?”

Hermione laughed. “I’d defend the existence of Nargles before I’d even consider what Gretchen’s saying!”

“That bad?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said with a chuckle. “And before you ask, trust me when I say you don’t want to know.” She shook her head back and forth, dismissing the absurdity of Gretchen’s claim. “Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of The Chosen One stopping by my office?”

Hermione relished in the resulting groan that came out of Harry. She knew how much he resented that title, especially now that the war was over and all he wanted was a calm life out of the spotlight, but it was fun to tease him about it from time to time.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to grab lunch, but now I’m having second thoughts!”

Hermione snorted as she adjusted some of the parchments that were spread out across the surface of her desk. “In that case, it’s a good thing that I can’t today.”

“C’mon, Hermione,” Harry insisted. “It’s Friday! Surely you can put aside whatever world-saving education plan you’re developing and escape work for an hour.”

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I have to take a raincheck,” she said. “I already have plans with Draco.”

She hadn’t noticed anything amiss with her statement until Harry’s eyes grew wide and he stared at her in disbelief.

“Draco?” he repeated, his eyebrows knitting together. “Since when is he,” Harry shuddered, “ _Draco?”_

Hermione released a heavy sigh. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s been his name since birth.”

“You know what I meant,” Harry clipped.

Hermione shook her head back and forth. She had been so careful making sure to refer to him as ‘Malfoy’ around Harry! But by now, Hermione had sufficiently waited long enough for Harry to adjust to the news that she and Draco were spending so much time together, so he would have to tolerate the fact that it also meant that she no longer called him by his last name.

“Draco and I are friends, and you’re just going to have to get used to that,” she resolved, making it clear to Harry that she had no intention of budging on this issue.

Her eye caught sight of the time on the wristwatch Molly had given Harry for his seventeenth birthday and was startled to see how late it had gotten. She knew the meeting with Rutledge had gone on for several hours, but she hadn’t expected it to already be a quarter till noon. Although, she supposed it was only logical that it was that hour considering that Harry was currently asking if she wanted to grab lunch.

“How about drinks tomorrow instead?” she suggested, hoping that would be satisfactory to get him out of there as soon as possible. Not that she didn’t want to get drinks with Harry! But if it were nearly twelve, then Draco would be there any minute now, so this seemed like the best compromise for the situation.

“Sure that won’t conflict with any of your plans with Malfoy?” he asked.

Hermione could tell that Harry was trying to remain lighthearted, but she could still detect the annoyance and mild hurt in his tone. Apparently her being friends with Draco was one thing, but it was another thing entirely when it interfered with her potential plans with Harry.

“Tomorrow night, I’m all yours,” she promised him. “Now get out of here before --”

There was a knock on her door, and the handle began to twist open.

~*~*~

The night’s slumber hadn’t been particularly easy. While Draco didn’t regret anything that he had said to his father over the shortly-lived dinner, he had woken up at several points in the middle of the night, his mother’s words seeming to echo in the otherwise silent manor. Each time the memories from the night before had sprung up, Draco had slammed his pillow over his head and forced himself back to sleep, refusing to let these thoughts prevent him from dreaming.

By the time Draco awoke, the sun had already risen far above the horizon and the peacocks were out of their sheds and roaming freely across the front gardens. Draco couldn’t remember the last time that he had slept in so late. With the expectation that he always be downstairs by nine for breakfast, he had never had the luxury of sleeping in. Yet, after the events of last night, Draco hadn’t felt compelled to attend another family meal, and evidently his parents hadn’t come upstairs demanding his presence. It seemed as if there was an inherent understanding from all parties that it was for the best that they keep their distance from one another after the harsh words that had been exchanged.

With the morning now completely his own, Draco went to his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment, and for the first time in weeks, the words easily flowed out of him, releasing the emotions he had been storing inside him for so long. It wasn’t anything he could turn into a book, just mindless stream of consciousness, but that didn’t diminish the sense of pride that radiated through Draco, savouring how good it felt to create something, even if it was only for himself.

Draco glanced at his pocket watch and returned his quill to his still relatively new ink canister from the other week as a pit started to form at the bottom of his stomach.

It was nearly noon.

Typically, the prospect of lunch with Hermione brought him nothing but unadulterated joy, but now it was tainted with the lingering question of how much his mother knew.

He closed his eyes. No. His parents wouldn’t ruin this for him.

Draco slipped on his favourite set of robes and exited his bedroom, carefully scanning the corridors for onlookers as he proceeded to the library. He half expected to find his mother waiting in front of the fireplace to confront him, but to his relief, no one else seemed to be in the room. Draco looked up at the mounted clock on the far wall, not as focused on the time as he was on the direction of the three hands that pointed to the Malfoy family members’ locations. Draco’s hand was pointed to the library, Lucius’s to his study, and Narcissa’s to ‘Not Currently in the Manor.’

Another wave of relief rushed through him. He was free to go.

A puff of green flames and a cry to Diagon Alley later, Draco made his way up the cobbled street to the now familiar brick facade and pulled open the door that led up the stairs towards Hermione’s office. He stopped when he recognised Hermione’s assistant taking her seat behind a desk.

“Well, well. Look who couldn’t stay away for long,” her assistant said with an amused tone. “Can I help you with something, Mr Malfoy?”

He greeted her with a polite nod. “Hermione. She in?”

“Just got back from her morning meeting,” the woman replied. “Although, I will warn you that she’s currently --”

“If she’s working, I’ll see to it that she stops,” he said with a grin. “If memory serves me right, a little threat to carry her out of there over my shoulder ought to do the trick.”

Before the assistant could finish her thought, Draco knocked on the wooden barrier once before he twisted the handle and started his way inside.

“Wrap up what you’re doing, Granger. It’s lunchtime, and you promised me --”

He paused when he caught sight of the raven-haired man he hadn’t had the displeasure of encountering in more than two years. Based on the grimace on the other man’s face, it was apparent that the feeling was mutual.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

Potter then turned to Hermione, doing a poor job of disguising his disdain. “So you call him Draco, but he still calls you Granger?”

“Of course not, Harry. He knows better than to call me that.”

Draco’s heart involuntarily fluttered at the sound of her voice. He had been so consumed by the unexpected presence of Potter that he hadn’t even had the chance to look at her yet. He shifted his attention away from the man, and his focus fell solely on Hermione, and at once, any resentment towards the other wizard quickly dissipated from the forefront of his mind.

Merlin, it hadn’t even been a full day since he’d seen her, but damn if she wasn’t a sight for weary eyes. Her strands of curls that usually framed her face were pulled back into a clip, making her delicate features more noticeable than usual. She was presently raising an eyebrow at him in apparent annoyance and her arms were folded across her chest, but that only made Draco smile.

“Yes, yes. Ten Hermiones for every Granger or whatever I agreed to,” he airily agreed with her. “But the note you so kindly wrote on my hand very clearly stated that I have lunch with Granger, and I wouldn’t want to disrespect our lunch plans again, would I?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

He placed his hands on the edge of her desk and leaned in. “And yet you still want to have lunch with me.”

Beside him, Potter shifted uncomfortably, and even though they had barely exchanged more than a word to one another, Draco had had enough of the man. This was Draco’s time with Hermione, and he didn’t feel like wasting any more of it in the presence of Potter.

“Scram, Potter,” he announced, maintaining his eye contact with the witch in front of him. “Hermione and I have plans, and they very much don’t include you.”

If Potter was uncomfortable before, it only increased ten-fold at the sound of Hermione’s given name rolling off his tongue. A satisfied smirk found its way across Draco’s lips. He had forgotten just how much fun it was to press his buttons.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hermione said to Potter. “But thanks for dropping by. You and I can do lunch some other time soon.”

Draco snorted a short laugh through his nose. Not if he had a say in the matter.

Potter lingered longer than necessary, apparently needing a few moments for anything to process through his thick skull, before he gave Draco one final glare and hesitantly wished Hermione a good day.

When the door click closed behind Potter, Draco once more let his eyes fall upon Hermione, now fully able to soak her presence in without Potter stifling his thoughts. She didn’t even have to say another word, yet Draco already felt infinitely lighter just being alone in the same room as her, far removed from his woes at the manor. What was it about this witch that seemed to make everything better?

Hermione tilted her head at him curiously. “What’s that look for?”

Draco hadn’t intended to make his admiration so obvious, but he didn't mind that she had noticed. “Just happy to see you,” he said earnestly.

Hermione seemed to blush slightly, her wide-eyed gaze momentarily falling to the ground and then back up at him through her eyelashes. “Those are five words I never expected to hear Draco Malfoy say to me.”

“Well, get used to it,” he returned with a grin, taking a step closer to her. “But enough with the chit-chat. Where do you want to eat?”

Hermione folded a piece of parchment and tucked it into her robes pocket. “Actually, I have something else in mind.”

“Something other than lunch?”

She nodded.

“And are you going to tell me what it is?”

She pressed her lips together and pretended to zip them closed.

Draco bit down on the inside of his lip to prevent his amusement from becoming too apparent. “And you won’t be hungry later?”

She motioned her head towards the floor, and Draco noticed the sacked lunch that rested beside her desk. Draco couldn’t help the chuckle that promptly followed. The witch had thoroughly planned whatever she had in mind, so who was he to say no?

“Fine,” he surrendered, even though his stomach was rumbling due to the fact he had skipped breakfast and most of dinner. But he could delay eating for one more hour if it meant indulging Hermione in her wishes. “Lead the way.”

She reached out her hand and intertwined their fingers, and Draco startled at the easy way her fingers meshed with his. He looked down at their connection and then back up at her where he was greeted with Hermione’s ever bright smile.

After a nod of approval, he felt that always jarring pull near his belly-button as Hermione Apparated them onto a narrow street that he presumed to be in Muggle London.

“I sure hope your grand plan isn’t to take me to a Muggle bookstore,” he said as Hermione pulled out her wand and transfigured her robes into a casual dress. “I haven’t even started the new books, and I already warned you that was a dealbreaker.”

Hermione laughed. “I swear that’s not it. But hurry up and turn your robes into something less conspicuous. We haven’t got much time.”

A few minutes later, Draco found himself in front of a massive stone structure with hoards of people coming in and out of it.

“Time to explain where in Merlin’s name you’re taking me,” Draco said, scanning the column-lined building.

Hermione reached into her dress pocket and pulled out the folded piece of parchment which she then handed to Draco.

He read it before turning it over twice, not sure he understood.

“And what is this?” he asked.

“As promised, your new hobby list.”

After everything that had happened the night before, Draco barely remembered her offer to come up with things for him to do instead of being consumed by perpetual boredom at the manor. But Draco was still confused. “All it says on here is the word ‘museums?’”

“Exactly!” Hermione returned, looking infinitely pleased with herself. “I did a lot of thinking about it last night, and since you seem to enjoy Muggle books, I thought you’d also enjoy learning more about Muggle culture in general.” She outstretched her hands to present the big reveal of her plan. “So welcome to The British Museum! Now, come on. I want to show you a few things before I let you loose on your own, but I only have an hour!”

Before Draco could respond, she once more took him by the hand and rushed them past the black iron gates, up the front steps, and through the entrance, barely giving Draco time to take in his surroundings. Once inside, Hermione darted across the brightly lit circular atrium and ushered him through a variety of rooms, all highlighting different cultures that were very clearly not British like the museum’s name implied.

The visit was quite the hurried whirlwind, but with each new artefact that Hermione stopped in front of and rapidly explained the history of before moving on, Draco’s contentment only grew. While it was all quite fascinating, he probably only absorbed around a quarter of what Hermione was spewing, but that hardly mattered. He merely enjoyed soaking in her genuine enthusiasm and the way she bounced slightly onto her toes each time she recalled another pertinent fact. It was perhaps the most precious thing Draco had ever witnessed.

“And now for the grand finale,” she said as she led him into a Muggle-filled room.

The gallery was by far the most crowded of all the ones they had been to, although there didn’t seem to be as many items on display. All Draco could see were large marble figures that looked as if they had been blasted a few times by a poorly aimed _Bombarda_. Yet clearly these statues were of some great historical importance if all these people were clamouring to take pictures of them with their Muggle cameras.

“These are the Elgin Marbles, although many people prefer to call them the Parthenon Marbles,” Hermione explained, although neither term gave Draco much more insight about why they were so famous. “They used to sit on top of this Ancient Greek building called the Parthenon that was a temple built in around 447 B.C.E. in honour of the Greek goddess, Athena.

“You remember what the front of this building looks like? It was kind of like that, only without the extended wings on the side. Picture the columns and the pediment -- that’s the triangle part -- and inside that triangle were these statues that were each carved out of a single block of marble and then placed on top. Imagine that! One solid block! There was absolutely no room for error!”

She tugged him by the hand and brought him closer to one of the headless statues.

“And look at the detail of their dresses and the way the fabric seems to cling to their figures even though this is all just marble. I mean, just look at them. They’re exquisite!”

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, and for the first time since they had stepped foot in the museum, she stood there quietly, simply admiring the statues. Draco supposed that was what he ought to be doing as well, but his attention lingered on the witch. He had barely gotten two sentences in over the course of the past half hour, yet he had no complaints. He could listen to Hermione ramble on about Muggle history all day. Not that he understood half of the references she had made, but even if she lectured for an hour straight about the anatomy of flobberworms, he would still listen with keen interest.

Hermione took a few steps to her left and was now leaned over to examine a reclined nude figure. Despite part of her hair being clipped back, a few loose strands fell into her face and she brushed them behind her shoulder to prevent them from obstructing her view. She must have felt Draco’s gaze on her because, in the same motion, she glanced up and gave him a demure smile before returning her attention to the statue. 

Merlin, what he’d give to have her show him the rest of the museum that afternoon! But he knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in a dragon’s den that she’d take off two afternoons in a row. Damn her stupid bloody job!

Draco kept his attention glued on her as she fluttered to the adjacent wall where more items were on display. The hem of her transfigured dress danced a few inches above her knees as she walked, and for some reason, Draco’s heart started to pick up speed.

He couldn’t remember ever seeing Hermione in a dress before. Well, he supposed there was that time at the Yule Ball, but he had spent that entire evening actively trying to avoid looking at her after Pansy had berated him for gaping at Hermione when she had first arrived. But that had been years ago, so it hardly counted.

And yet, Draco couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly was making it so difficult for him to tear himself away. The fact remained that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The casual cotton material was far from anything fancy, but there was something alluring in the way that the fabric nicely clung around her waist. He had never paid much mind to it before, but he supposed one could say that Hermione had an appealing figure.

He shook his head and tried to return his attention to the statues, but his mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Hermione. He barely lasted ten seconds before he reverted his gaze in her direction, admiring the way she was so deeply engrossed. She seemed so entirely and perfectly at ease, and at that moment, Draco wanted nothing more than to step directly behind her and wrap his arms around that delicate, little waist and balance his chin on her shoulder so that Hermione’s lips would be right next to his ear as she softly divulged more details about the work. And when she had inevitably reached the point where he couldn’t consume any more information, he could turn her around, rest a hand upon her cheek, lean in close, and shut her up with one gentle, soft —

Draco inhaled a sharp breath through his nose and his eyes opened wide in alarm, trying to ignore the rest of that thought, but it was too late. The image was already implanted in Draco’s mind. His mouth grew dry and his heart started hammering harder than he ever thought possible, easily beating the record it had set the previous night when Draco had debated his father.

Suddenly, Draco’s outburst from dinner was starting to make a bit more sense. He was so quick to defend that half-blood witch because he —

Wait, no! This was ridiculous!

Draco was a logical man, and this simply didn’t make sense.

There was absolutely _no_ chance —

Draco had _never —_

He and Hermione were just —

Hermione looked back at him from over her shoulder, and all she had to do was give him another subtle smile for his whole world to come crashing down.

_Fuck._

There was no use denying it. He really wanted to kiss her.

Draco pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes and tried to drown out his surroundings. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ This was the last thing he needed right now! Matters with his parents were already complicated enough, and he didn’t need to exacerbate that issue by showing any sort of interest in a Muggle-born.

But would it make that much of a difference? Draco had already made it clear that he didn’t intend to marry a witch just because she was a pureblood. He was his own man, and he didn’t need to obey his father’s every command. Yet despite this, he couldn’t help the way his stomach churned at the memory of his father’s outrage towards the idea of Draco with a half-blood. If his reaction had been that bad for someone with mostly magical ancestors, then how bad would it be if Draco dared to even consider a Muggle-born?

And none of this touched on the fact he doubted Hermione even wanted to kiss _him_.

She had never shown any romantic interest in him, and he couldn’t blame her. It was surprising enough they managed to develop such a strong friendship in such a short period of time considering, well, everything. And he relied on that friendship too much to risk ruining that by pushing things too far.

What felt like far off in the distance, he heard the sound of his name.

“Draco?” Hermione must have left her spot in front of the art because she was now standing right before him, her head tilted in concern. “What’s the matter?”

Draco quickly jerked his head, hoping to rid himself of this newfound feeling, but it was proving incredibly difficult. He swallowed his emotions and forced his lips into a carefree smile. “Nothing. Just getting a bit hungry is all.”

“Oh, Merlin! Of course!” Hermione piped. “It must be getting late, and I completely lost track of time!”

She scanned the room for a clock, but there was none to be found. And then, without warning, Hermione reached deep into one of Draco’s transfigured trouser pockets, and Draco nearly had a heart attack at the sensation of her hand brushing up against his thigh through the fabric, just inches away from his --

“Here it is!” Hermione pulled out Draco’s pocket watch and looked down at its face. “Shoot, I need to be back in ten minutes,” she said with a heavy sigh, but her disappointment didn’t last long. “That’s actually just enough time for us to squeeze in the Rosetta Stone. It’s on our way out anyway!”

Without so much as taking a moment to breathe, Hermione once more intertwined their fingers and dragged Draco back past the other Parthenon pieces, through a couple of galleries, and paused in front of a big black stone with tiny etchings on it. But as much as he tried to focus on Hermione explaining why this was one of the most important historical finds of all time, all Draco could think about was how totally and utterly fucked he was.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! I feel like I say this every time, but thank you for sticking with this story and my irregular updates. I value each and every single one of you who takes the time to read, favorite, follow, and review this story. I cannot overstate how much I appreciate the time you take to read what I create and share your thoughts with me.
> 
> Thanks as always to LightofEvolution. If you aren't already, go read her story The Catching of the Proverbial Snitch! The first three chapters are already up and it's an absolute joy to read! 
> 
> Also, I recently posted a Christmas themed one-shot called Kiss Me Not. You can totally blame that story for the even longer than usual delay on this chapter, but I hope you'll check it out if you haven't already. It's never too late for some mistletoe fun ;)
> 
> Okay. I'm done now. On with the story!

Hermione practically skipped down Diagon Alley. Although her and Draco’s visit to the British Museum had been rushed, even the brief delve into the rich history there had left her feeling invigorated and ready to return to work. She probably should have tried not to ramble as much as she had, but she couldn’t help it. There was just so much Muggle history he didn’t know!

It was still a bit hard to believe, but her lunch hour with Draco was quickly becoming her favourite part of the work week. And as she stepped back into her office, Hermione was finding it difficult to erase the broad smile from her face.

“Good afternoon,” Hermione practically sang to Gretchen as she walked past her assistant’s desk and entered her office.

“Afternoon,” Gretchen returned, following closely on Hermione’s heels, parchment in hand. “I made a list of the things you need to get done before the weekend. Would you like me to go over them with you?”

Hermione nodded and grabbed a few pieces of parchment and a quill to take notes. Gretchen began outlining the rest of Hermione’s workday, but within a few seconds, Hermione’s mind inadvertently started to tune Gretchen out and wandered back to her afternoon with Draco. Her heart warmed recalling the way he had attentively stood by her side, the beginning traces of a smile stretching its way up his lips as an endless stream of facts rolled off her tongue. It was impressive how he had remained so engaged the entire time.

Well, not the _entire_ time.

Something had been off once she had shown him the Elgin Marbles. He claimed it was due to hunger, and initially, she had readily accepted that excuse. But what if it was something else? What if she had gone too in depth with her explanations? Or what if he wasn’t ready for _that_ much Muggle culture?

“Earth to Miss Granger!”

“Huh?” Hermione pulled herself back to the present and found Gretchen looking down at her expectantly. “Oh, sorry,” Hermione stammered in apology.

That was odd. It was so unlike her to lose control of her thoughts like that -- especially when she was supposed to be actively listening to someone else. She glanced at the parchment she had intended for notes and was surprised to find that it was instead covered with swirled, mindless doodles. Hermione shuffled the order of her parchments so that a fresh piece was on top.

“I completely lost track of our conversation,” Hermione confessed. She sucked in a brief breath and regained her focus. “What were you saying?”

But instead of continuing, Gretchen merely raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me what happened during lunch today?”

“What makes you think something happened?” Hermione promptly responded.

“Come off it,” Gretchen retorted. “First, you were practically floating when you returned to the office, and now you’re daydreaming?” A smirk stretched across her lips. “They may call you the ‘Brightest Witch of Her Age,’ but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you once again had lunch with a certain blond haired wizard.”

Hermione’s cheeks impulsively heated up, and she felt the urge to defend herself. “I did not have lunch with him,” she snapped.

“Oh, really?” Gretchen returned. “Then why is it that you’re turning redder than one of those Muggle telephone booths?”

“He and I did not get lunch,” Hermione firmly reiterated. She reached down and held up her sacked lunch from home as proof. “As you can see, I have not yet eaten today. And for the record, I do not appreciate you questioning whether or not I am telling you the truth. While I value the relationship you and I have developed, need I remind you that you are first and foremost my assistant?”

Gretchen tensed at the shift in tone of the conversation. “Yes, ma’am. I know, ma’am. I just --”

“And since we’re on the topic,” Hermione continued on, “I will also advise you to think twice before making more wise comments about my friendship with Draco. I have made my stance on the situation unmistakably clear, and it’s far past time that you drop your silly notion that he and I will ever become anything more than friends. Is that understood?”

Gretchen nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“Good,” Hermione said. She smiled to herself, satisfied with the healthy dose of fear she had instilled in her assistant, but she wasn’t done with her fun just yet. “And now that we’ve got that settled, I suppose it doesn’t hurt to tell you that Draco and I went to a museum together, _not_ lunch.”

The light in Gretchen’s eyes returned and she opened her lips to say something but quickly thought better of it. She swallowed whatever it was she had intended to say and pressed her lips together. It was clearly torture for her not to make some sort of retort, and Hermione delighted in watching Gretchen forcefully hold it in.

“No comment?” Hermione taunted.

Gretchen shook her head while simultaneously fighting the grin that was trying to break through the tension of her sealed lips.

“That’s what I thought,” Hermione said with a pleased grin of her own. “Now shall we start back at the top?”

They were halfway through the list when there was a knock on the door. Hermione called for the person to step inside, and in entered Penelope Plotts, Head of the Literacy Department.

“Pardon the interruption, but Hermione, you’re needed in the conference room.”

Hermione turned to Gretchen curiously. “Did you know about this?”

Gretchen shook her head. “It wasn’t on your schedule.”

“It’s a last minute meeting,” Penelope clarified. “Tillman’s here.”

The two other witches exchanged surprised glances. Tillman was there? Despite being the owner of their firm, he rarely actually came into the office, saving his presence almost exclusively for board meetings and major announcements. And seeing there wasn’t a board meeting planned, that suggested that he was there for the latter.

“Gretchen, revise my schedule accordingly,” Hermione instructed as she arose from her chair. “We’ll have to push everything back at least a half hour.”

And with that, Hermione joined Penelope as they proceeded towards the conference room.

“Do you know what the meeting’s for?” Hermione asked, her shorter legs struggling to keep up with Penelope’s quick pace.

“Haven’t got a clue,” she replied to Hermione’s disappointment. “All I know is that he’s called for the department heads and only a few of the higher-up curriculum mapping members.”

“Only a few of us? Who else?”

“Renee Kim and Isaac Howards.”

This only piqued Hermione’s curiosity further. “But both of them are under the Muggle Studies department. Why not someone from Mathematics? Do you think he’s adding on more projects in their department? Or perhaps revising our deadlines?”

Penelope gave Hermione a quick side-eye. “I admire your inquisitive nature and ability to think through possibilities, which is what makes you an excellent employee, but right now, you know as much as I do, so you’re just going to have to wait for answers like the rest of us.”

That was Hermione’s least favourite thing to hear. When presented with a question, her brain was determined to mull it over until it found a reasonable solution. It didn’t matter that Tillman would soon explain everything. She preferred to figure things out beforehand.

When they stepped inside the conference room, only two of the chairs were taken. Resting on the table in front of each chair was a place card with the attending person’s name. Hermione settled in her assigned seat beside Penelope who was next to Edward Urchin, Head of Mathematics. Across from them was Isaac Howards, but to Hermione’s wonderment, there was only one place card left that read ‘Renee Kim.’

“If Tillman called for the department heads, where is Jeffers’ seat?” Hermione whispered to Penelope, inquiring about the Head of Muggle Studies.

The witch merely shrugged. “Perhaps he’s sick?”

Before her mind could fall deeper into its seemingly endless pit of questions, the conference door opened and in stepped Anthony Tillman. Penelope had started speaking with Urlich, giving Hermione the opportunity to steal a few furtive glances at the company’s owner, trying to glean anything from his body language. At least then she could possibly determine if the announcement would be good or bad news.

Tillman’s glasses were perched low on the edge of his nose as he reviewed a piece of parchment he had brought in with him. He was a fairly large man with impressively straight posture, which only added to his commanding presence. Hermione admired the way he was so ardently committed to their cause, equal parts resolute and reasonable. Looking at him now, his firm determination was instantly recognisable. Yet any other emotion remained indiscernible and therefore didn’t help her on her inquisitive mission.

When Renee Kim joined them around the table, Tillman set his parchment down and began the meeting.

“Thank you for attending despite the little notice,” he commenced. “I realise your time is valuable, so I will make this as brief as possible. As you are all aware, we are quickly approaching our deadline to finalise our early childhood education program by the end of the annual year. However, I have vital information that I must share with you.”

Hermione’s stomach lurched. That was not how one typically introduced good news.

“I met with the Ministry this morning. They’re requiring that we decrease the number of weekly hours for our program.”

The table erupted in shock.

“Can they do that?”

“On what grounds?”

“Our deadline is just over two months away!”

Hermione’s jaw hung slack in disbelief until she uttered, “But Weggers gave us the Ministry’s approval just the other week! And now they’re rescinding it?”

“That seems to be the case, Miss Granger,” Tillman said. “Unbeknownst to us, the Ministry has been conducting their own research to determine the best means for implementing our program on a widespread scale and have concluded that ten hours is too much.”

Once again, the committee members shared their dismay at the information.

Ten hours was too much? For an entire week? Where was everyone’s priorities on trying to better wizarding society through education?

In a distant corner of her mind, Hermione vaguely recollected her conversation with Draco at the Leaky Cauldron just a few weeks prior. When she had told him about the program, his immediate reaction had been that ten hours was too much, especially for working families.

Merlin, she could already imagine his response once she told him that the Ministry agreed with him. First he’d grin that devilish yet charming grin of his and then he’d taunt and tease her until he forced her to admit that he was right and she was wrong. And even after all that, without a doubt, he’d continue to bring it up throughout the evening, or even weeks later, just to rub it in further.

Gods, he was going to be positively insufferable about this! Yet despite these complaints, she found that she was smiling for some reason.

Until she remembered where she was.

For Merlin’s sake, her mind had started to wander again! The meeting! She had to stay focused on the meeting!

Hermione snapped herself out of her reverie and pulled her attention back to the still debating meeting participants.

“What does the Ministry expect us to do?” Urchin complained. “Throw out half our work?”

“I understand and share your concern, but if we want the Ministry’s support, we must heed to their verdict,” Tillman tried to reason.

“Not without going down with a fight!” Hermione interjected. “I’ve sat in Weggers’ office before, and I’d more than happily spend all day debating this with her until they see our side of it!”

Tillman chuckled. “As always, I appreciate your enthusiasm, Miss Granger, but I spent all morning negotiating with them. They had initially tried to dwindle us down to five hours a week, but I have worked them up to seven and a half.”

Hermione frowned, not entirely satisfied. “But seven and a half is —“

“Better than what we had before,” Tillman completed firmly. “While this is not our ideal, it will still be an improvement from what is currently in place, which is nothing. Many families already have their own traditions of educating their children, so pushback is to be expected. My hope is that in a couple of years, we can start offering a more time-intensive option. But in the meantime, we will have to accept this change.”

Hermione still wasn’t pleased, but knowing Tillman, he had already argued in their favour just as strongly as she would have, so as much as it pained her to concede to the Ministry’s demand, it didn’t sound as though she had much of a choice. She’d simply have to view it as a challenge -- how to best condense ten hours of content into three-quarters of the time.

“In light of this, we will need to modify our curriculums,” Tillman continued on. “Mrs Plotts and Mr Urchin, I trust you to relay this information to the rest of your teams and delegate jobs appropriately. We will need to work efficiently to alter our curriculums purposefully and meaningfully so that we can still meet our December 31st deadline. However, there is another wrench that I must make you all aware of.”

Hermione’s stomach dropped as her eyes darted across the table to the two curriculum committee members of the Muggle Studies department. She barely had enough time to connect the dots before Tillman made the official announcement.

“As you have probably noticed, Mr Jeffers is not with us, and as of an hour ago, he has officially resigned from the company, effective immediately.”

Shock rippled through the room as the blow of the news sunk in.

“Did he say why?” Renee Kim piped up.

“The hours were too much for him,” Tillman explained. “Jeffers had previously expressed concerns regarding the additional hours that many of you have been compelled to work lately. So when I learned of this new development, I told him first, at which time, he submitted his resignation.”

Hermione bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying anything too rash. While she understood Jeffers’ decision and respected Tillman’s approach, this whole situation was a highly predictable consequence of how many hours they had all been working lately. Hermione knew she had a higher tolerance for work than most, but even _she_ thought it had been edging on too much.

“Therefore, we need to do a bit of reshuffling as a staff,” Tillman stated simply. “I am appointing Ms Kim as the new head of the Muggle Studies department, and Mr Howard will work directly under her to support this transition.”

The two members of the Muggle Studies department nodded their heads in understanding, their expressions a blend of excitement with nerves, fully cognizant of the added weight of newfound responsibility.

“And as for you, Miss Granger --”

Hermione blinked several times before she fully realised Tillman had addressed her. She had been so wrapped up in the content of the meeting that she hadn’t stopped to wonder why _she_ had been invited.

“Since Ms Kim and Mr Howard will no longer be spending as much time on curriculum development, that leaves a void in their department,” Tillman said, his attention still on Hermione. “It is my understanding that you have already collaborated with the Muggle Studies department on multiple occasions?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, sir. They have often consulted me regarding certain Muggle historical figures and inventions.”

“Good. In that case, I propose that you split your time between the Literacy and Muggle Studies departments and assist them both as needed. Are you agreeable?”

Hermione’s heart lifted. “Of course, sir.” It would most assuredly mean more work, but how could she pass down the opportunity to work more closely with a department she felt so strongly about?

“Well, then, it’s settled,” Tillman declared with a note of finality. “I will have briefings on your desks first thing Monday morning with more details about your new positions and revised expectations. Take the weekend to situate yourselves and prepare for the week ahead. As I’m sure you have been able to conclude for yourselves, next week will be another long one, but with our deadline looming on the horizon, we must push ourselves harder than ever. And you can all sleep and return to your social lives in the new year.”

They all shared a polite chuckle at Tillman’s parting words. He exited the conference room, leaving the other members of the meeting to react to everything they had just heard.

“Congratulations,” Penelope said to Hermione. “He must be impressed with you and your work ethic if he trusts you to split your time between two departments.”

“Thank you,” Hermione beamed. “I must say I wasn’t expecting it.”

Penelope shrugged. “I can’t say I was either, and yet, I can’t say I’m surprised. As I already told you earlier, you’re an excellent employee. I think you’ve got a bright future here.”

Penelope smiled before turning to Urchin, leaving Hermione standing there, positively radiating with pride and excitement. For the time being, she wasn’t even going to think about how much additional work had just been put on her. All she cared to focus on was the rush of ideas she had on how she could best support the Muggle Studies department.

When Hermione made her way back to her office, she did so with an extra spring to her step. Oh, she simply couldn’t wait to share the news with Draco! She could focus their conversation on this instead of letting him gloat too much about being ‘right’ about the number of hours. He most likely wouldn’t be any help with the formation of her plans, but as this afternoon proved, he would still be an attentive listener for her to bounce her ideas off of. The only question was _when_ she’d get to see him again. Tonight seemed so soon and tomorrow she already agreed to get drinks with Harry.

Oh, yes! Harry! And Ron! Oh, she’d have to share the good news with them as well. Yes, all her friends. They’d surely all be excited for her.

But why was Draco the one she wanted to tell the most?

~*~*~

It was baffling how Draco could be surrounded by so many people but feel so utterly in his own world. For hours, he had been aimlessly wandering around the crowded pavements of Muggle London, his mind stuck in a cluttered fog. After he and Hermione had parted ways at the British Museum, he had been in desperate need for fresh air and time to think. He hadn’t even bothered to stop for lunch -- the mere thought of food only sent more uneasiness pulsing through his stomach.

He was still struggling to navigate his realisation from that afternoon. Regardless of how he looked at it, there didn’t seem to be any good outcome. It didn’t matter how he felt about her. Even if by some odd stroke of luck Hermione liked him, too, his parents would disown him in a heartbeat if he dared even _considered_ being with her.

He and Hermione would have to remain friends. That was the end of that.

And yet his brain continued to conjure up memories from that afternoon, and he was once again reminded of the way Hermione had flitted down the museum galleries, her playful smile invading his thoughts and sending a flutter straight through his heart.

Draco buried his face in his palms. _Fuck._ He couldn’t let this keep happening.

Friends, friends, _friends._

Maybe if he said it enough, he could convince himself that it was true.

What was it again that he had so despised about her growing up? Perhaps if he recalled some of the things he had resented about her at Hogwarts, it would help deter these feelings.

Draco kept his focus straight ahead at the surrounding Muggle buildings as he tried to think. The first thing that came to mind, of course, was how her blood status had so irrationally offended him as a child, but he had long since outgrown that irrelevant factor.

There had to be something else…

She was a know it all! Yes, yes. That had always bothered him! Every class they had had together, he had secretly tallied how many times she had raised her hand and groaned in aggravation when she subsequently had the correct response. There was nothing the witch didn’t know. And she had a stellar talent of making that blatantly obvious to anyone within earshot.

But come to think of it, he really didn’t mind that nowadays. In fact, it was rather endearing. He had quite enjoyed hearing her ramble on about everything she knew about Muggle history. The way she lit up with enthusiasm and radiated excitement and --

Stop! Something else. Something else he didn’t like about her…

She was a workaholic. Okay, perhaps not the worst thing in the world, but it was something. Back at school, she had essentially lived in the library, and not much about her had changed in that regard. Even now, she tended to work too much. Just last week she had been so caught up in her job, that he had spent all week waiting, hoping, _longing_ to see her. And when they had finally reunited at the Muggle library, his first thought had been that he was so excited to see her, he could have ki--

Oh, for Merlin’s sake! This wasn’t helping!

Her hair! Yes, that was a failsafe. He had always enjoyed poking fun of that tangled mess of curls and the way her chestnut locks somehow seemed to have a mind of their own. While they had been at the museum, she had used a hair clip to keep it partially in control, and still, some loose strands had fallen into her face. Were they really that impossible to manage? Hell, if she couldn’t do it herself, he could easily do it for her. Honestly, all it took was combing his fingers through those wisps of hair, and then gently tuck them behind her ear, close his eyes, lean in, and --

Fuck, shit, dammit, _fuck!_ Get that stupid, bloody thought out of his mind!

An audible groan escaped his lips, and a few of the passing Muggles paused to glance at him. It was only then that Draco took a moment to look at his surroundings and recognised where his feet had unconsciously led him. Before him was the familiar kaleidoscope of autumn leaves that adorned the grass of the same park square that he and Hermione had spent the better part of an hour just the day prior.

Draco stepped foot off the pavement and wandered onto the grass, settling under the same tree. Merlin, how had that just been yesterday that he had been there with her? He reached into his trouser pocket and unwrapped the final piece of Turkish Delight, reminiscing the simplicity of the day before. He had laid there so blissfully as they sat there in comfortable silence. They didn’t even have to say a word for him to enjoy her company. He just liked her being there.

Who did he think he was kidding? There was no denying how fond he had quickly grown of her. And if he had his way, she’d be by his side that very moment.

But it wasn’t that simple.

He liked her. That much was certain. And now he was stuck in a terrible predicament.

He closed his eyes and with a heavy heart, recalled the dinner conversation from the night before. His father had made his dismay painfully clear at the mere idea of Draco having any form of relations with a half-blood. And this was a Muggle-born he was considering; and of all the Muggle-borns in the world, Hermione Granger.

It had taken all the courage Draco had in order to stand up to his father and defend his right to pick whoever he wanted as a potential wife. But those had been just words.

It was one thing when it was just the idea of defying his parents’ wishes, but to act upon it was a different matter entirely. He may talk a big game, but when it came down to it, Draco knew that he had a tendency to back out -- a fact the war had made him all too aware of about himself. He desperately wanted to change, but that was easier said than done.

What he needed now was time. Time to figure this out. Or hope these feelings would fade away. And as much as it pained him to even consider, perhaps what he needed most was distance from her. At least until he had this better sorted out.

Draco scrunched his eyes tighter closed and forced himself to clear his mind. He hadn’t realised he had fallen asleep until he was startled awake by the sound of the six o’clock bells.

Calmed by the knowledge that dinner would soon be starting at the Manor without him, Draco took his time walking back to Diagon Alley. It wasn’t long before he had returned to the bustling environment of wizarding shops, but only one building maintained his attention. His focus settled on the brick facade he was becoming far too acquainted with and the sole window whose pane was still illuminated.

Draco faintly smiled to himself. Of course she was working late on a Friday. That was the nature of a born workaholic.

For a brief moment, Draco considered going up the stairs and squeezing a few parting words to her before he sentenced himself to forced separation. Problem was, he didn’t trust himself not to do anything stupid if he risked being in that close of proximity to her.

Draco only lingered a few seconds longer before he tore himself away and found the next closest Floo to return home. By now, his parents must have started dinner without him, and Draco was all too pleased about bypassing another meal in their company. The thought of food still wasn’t appealing to him, but he knew he had to eat. If he stopped by the kitchens, he could ask one of the house elves to prepare him something before he headed to his room and did anything other than read Hermione’s Muggle books.

But that plan shattered the moment he stepped out of the fireplace.

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

Draco stiffened at the sound of his father’s commanding voice.

Lucius returned the book he had been browsing onto the closest shelf and slowly paced towards Draco. “Care to explain where you’ve been all day?”

Draco’s heart started hammering harder with each step closer, but he made sure to maintain a stern expression, refusing to reveal the rocky current that coursed through his veins.

“I already told you yesterday. I had an informational meeting with Gringotts.”

“Oh, yes,” Lucius drawled, almost to the point of sounding bored. “But I imagine that didn’t take six hours. So I’ll ask you again. Do you care to explain where you’ve been all day?”

Lucius stared at him, waiting for a response.

Draco mustered the little courage he had left to stare his father dead in the eyes. “The rest of my afternoon activities are none of your business.”

“They are very well my business when you are neglecting your familial responsibilities,” Lucius carefully articulated.

His seeming indifference to Draco’s opinions prompted him to snarl. “I thought I made my thoughts on that matter clear enough last night.” His right hand settled into a clenched fist by his side.

“You may have voiced your disagreement, but that does not change the expectation. And seeing you have made it abundantly clear that you are not taking this seriously, your mother and I have taken matters into our own hands.”

It didn’t take long for Draco to figure out what his father meant. “So, who do you have waiting downstairs for me?”

“Miss Astoria Greengrass,” Lucius replied with a blasé breeze. “Your mother thought she would be the most appropriate choice after reviewing the letters again this morning over breakfast. Now I’ll give you five minutes to change and meet us downstairs, and I expect you to be on your best behaviour. Do I make myself clear?”

Draco’s snarl deepened. “And what if I refuse?”

Lucius took a step closer. “I don’t think you want to try me, Draco.”

The harsh glare of his father’s gaze rattled Draco as he searched for the strength to respond, to be a man of action, not of empty words. But Lucius’s menacing tone had always had the power to unnerve him, and any resolve Draco had died within him. He couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

A pleased smirk dawned on Lucius’s lips. “Good,” he settled. He had barely started to make his way out of the Manor’s library when Lucius turned back around for one final comment. “Oh, and a word to the wise. If you didn’t want me to be suspicious, you should have changed out of those Muggle clothes before returning home. Now go put on proper robes. We have guests.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to LightofEvolution for taking time away from the world's most adorable dog to go over this chapter for me, and thank *YOU* for reading :) That's all I've got this time. Let me know what you think!

Draco fiddled with the sleeve of his dress robes as he prepared himself to enter the formal sitting room. His stomach was as unsteady as a four year old riding a toy broomstick for the first time. From just beyond the door, he could hear the muffled conversation between his parents and the Greengrasses.

Not that he would ever utter the sentiment aloud, but he wouldn’t mind a bit more of that trademark Gryffindor courage instead of succumbing to the intimidation of his father. It wasn’t too late for him to turn around and seal himself away, pretend his father had never confronted him in the library and that Astoria Greengrass and her parents weren’t waiting for him to join them. All it would take was finding the internal strength to will his feet in the opposite direction.

But as Draco entertained these thoughts, he recognised that there was now another issue at hand. His father had noticed Draco’s absence from the manor that afternoon and had spotted him in Muggle clothing. Turning back now would only make his father more suspicious, and Lucius prying further into his personal life wouldn’t make matters any easier. If Draco had any hopes for figuring out this new Hermione-induced predicament, he couldn’t afford his father asking any more questions, which meant he didn’t have much choice on what he did next.

So with a sense of revulsion towards his own actions, Draco masked his displeasure and twisted the doorknob open.

In the centre of the sitting room were both his parents with Nathaniel and Josephine Greengrass and their daughter Astoria. The collection of witches and wizards were politely chatting with one another, Lucius attending to Mr Greengrass, as the women conversed in a separate discussion.

Several years had passed since Draco had seen any of the Greengrasses. When the Malfoys had secluded themselves inside the manor in the aftermath of the war, they had ceased all sightings of their old pureblood acquaintances. It must have been summer before fifth year that Draco had last interacted with either of the elder Greengrasses -- the last time he could recall his parents holding a formal function at the manor when he hadn’t been away at Hogwarts. Needless to say, matters became more… complicated… after fifth year, and the Malfoys hadn’t hosted large groups of guests since.

Except for ones whose members bore that dark, twisted serpent etched into their skin.

Draco approached the company, poised to greet the Greengrasses with the gentlemanly manner he had been instilled with since birth, but his stomach plummeted when his attention settled on his mother. His memory flashed back to the night before when Narcissa had confronted him from outside his bedroom after the disastrous dinner.

_“I know there’s something you’re not telling me and your father. You may think you’re clever enough to get away with these secret luncheons of yours, but you forget who raised you.”_

His mouth grew dry. In the emotional whirlwind of that afternoon, he had somehow forgotten about his mother’s warning. Now both of his parents were starting to catch onto his time outside of the manor.

He needed a drink.

But before he could call on a house elf to get him something, Narcissa caught sight of her son and arose from her seat to greet him.

“Draco, dear,” she cooed. “We were getting worried about you.” She delicately took his hands into hers and kissed him on one cheek, whispering in his ear, “Say you just got back,” -- kiss on the other cheek -- “from Gringotts.”

Narcissa’s grip tightened around his fingers before she donned a polite smile and returned to her chair as if her welcome hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary. Lucius had paused his conversation with Nathaniel Greengrass and was now staring at Draco expectantly. All eyes were on him.

“Apologies,” Draco announced, feeling his fingers twitch. “I just got back from Gringotts. My meeting with them went longer than expected.” He resisted the snarl that itched to creep up his lips, hating the way the lie so easily rolled off his tongue. But he knew he had to play along.

Draco first addressed Mr Greengrass and shook the man’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

Mr Greengrass returned the sentiment with a firm nod. “You as well. I presume you remember my daughter, Astoria?”

Draco hadn’t realised that he had been avoiding looking directly at the young witch until her father introduced her. Astoria stood up and slightly curtsied, tilting her head down before she looked back up at Draco through her eyelashes. While Draco was quite familiar with her older sister after having shared nearly every class with her for seven years, Draco had never bothered to get to know Astoria. She was two years younger, which meant that by the time she had entered Hogwarts, Draco had already solidified his friend group and was much too roped into Pansy to pay attention to other witches.

As much as Draco hated everything about the courting process and the fact that he was presently in that room, he had to admit that Astoria was rather pretty. Her dark blonde hair was neatly fashioned so that her high cheekbones and blue eyes were in plain sight. It was evident that the witch had taken a lot of consideration into her dress that evening, her robes freshly pressed and perfectly accentuating her slender figure. She had also put on a fair amount of makeup, which didn’t seem necessary. Hermione hardly ever wore makeup, and yet she --

Draco shoved any thought of Hermione away while he kissed Astoria’s hand. Now was not the time.  _Now was not the time._

Narcissa smiled as she placed her hands together. “Now that we’re all here, shall we head to the dining room?”

~*~*~

“Your father tells me that Gringotts is interested in hiring you,” Mr Greengrass said shortly after the first course had arrived.

As was the Malfoy fashion, they were stretched across the length of the formal dining table, Lucius and Mr Greengrass at one end, Narcissa and Mrs Greengrass at the other, and Astoria and Draco in the middle. His parents’ insistence of maintaining this seating pattern felt even more ridiculous when guests were in attendance.

“He had an informational meeting with them his afternoon,” his mother clarified. “We don’t know yet if that’s the direction that Draco will choose to go in.”

Mr Greengrass nodded. “Regardless of his choice, it’s good to hear that he’s considering the institution. That’s a much more respectable career path than his current one.”

Draco could feel his father’s cruel grin.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“And what is it that Astoria is doing nowadays?” Narcissa queried, having the good sense to change the direction of the conversation before Draco could spoil how well it seemed to be going.

“She’s working in the public relations department of the Ministry,” Mrs Greengrass supplied proudly.

“Oh, that’s right. I vaguely remember you mentioning that in your letter,” Narcissa said. “You must forgive me, for we have gotten so many that it can be hard to keep track sometimes.”

Draco scoffed under his breath, seeing right through his mother’s obvious intention to make Draco seem more in demand. But when he was finished, he noticed the lull in the conversation. He lifted his head to determine the cause, only to discover his mother raising an eyebrow at him.

“I said, Draco, dear, will you retrieve Miss Greengrass’s letter for me?” Narcissa tried to appear casual, but Draco could still detect her dismay that he hadn’t heard her the first time.

Submitting to the request, Draco pushed back his chair and walked across the room to the chest on which the jewelled box rested as the conversation continued without him. He lifted the lid, and his heart faltered when he saw what rested on top.

Instead of a letter, Draco was confronted with an image --  _of him_. The picture version of Draco was leaned against a brick building, his head rolling lazily as his eyes were closed in slumber while two rolls of parchment stuck out of his robes. It had undoubtedly been taken when Draco had waited outside Hermione’s office after he had neglected their lunch plans the first day and she was running late the next. He recalled waking up ungodly early the subsequent morning to check the  _Daily Prophet_  and make sure that no photographs of him had shown up in the paper.

Originally, he had been so relieved when neither his name nor picture was within the pages. He had naively believed that meant he was in the clear.

This only further confirmed his fear that his mother knew far more than he would have preferred. And now she had photographic proof of him outside Hermione’s office. 

His eyes flitted in her direction and found that she was already looking back at him, a concerned expression washed over her, but he didn’t buy it for a second.

“Is something the matter, dear?” Narcissa asked during a brief pause in the conversation.

Draco swallowed. Right now it felt like just about everything was the matter. His preferred career. His disinterest in signing a marriage contract. His feelings towards a certain witch he had inconveniently grown too fond of. More and more, Draco was torn between following his parents’ expectations and following his own desires. And thus far, his parents were winning the battle.

He reminded himself why he bothered with attending this dinner in the first place -- he didn’t need his father asking any more questions. And now it appeared the same was true about his mother. She obviously knew something, and there was no telling what she planned to do with the information.

The distaste building on his tongue, Draco uttered, “I’m fine. Just got distracted,” before moving past the photograph to the stack of letters laid beneath.

After handing her the letter, Draco returned to his seat, his mind reeling with the implications of his discovery, but one thing was painfully certain. Narcissa had intended for him to find that picture.

~*~*~

The rest of the meal continued without any other surprises, but regardless of how much Draco ate, the pit in his stomach remained. He went through all the motions his parents expected of him, answering questions when addressed and supplying witty comments when appropriate, yet his thoughts kept reverting to the picture tucked away in the jewelled box.

Where did Narcissa get the photograph? Were there others? How much did she know? Had she shared any of it with her husband?

What remained of everyone’s main course disappeared from their plates, allowing for the fifth and final course to be served. The golden glazed crème brûlée materialised onto the small plates, the caramelized top torched to perfection. As Draco picked up his spoon to crack the hard surface, he felt Astoria’s eyes lingering on him, but he maintained his attention on the dessert.

All evening, the witch had hardly spoken a word unless directly addressed, which wasn’t often. She had mainly sat there in silence, seeming to share the same reserved nature of her older sister. Draco didn’t care either which way about it -- it wasn’t as if he had any actual interest in the witch, so what did it matter? He just needed to make it through this meal and hope that it was enough to temporarily appease his parents' demands for him to meet with one of the pureblood witches.

Before long, the meal concluded, and the remaining plates vanished from sight. Lucius and Mr Greengrass headed into the parlour to converse in private, and Narcissa turned to Draco.

“Why don’t you show Astoria the grounds while her mother and I talk?” she suggested. “I believe some of the flowers in the greenhouses may be of interest.”

Draco didn’t particularly want to spend more time with Astoria, but he readily accepted. At this point in the evening, he had already played his role so aptly, he might as well finish it without arguing over something so easily accomplished. Besides, he was glad to have an excuse to step out of the manor and return to the fresh air. Astoria was quiet enough that he doubted he would even notice her presence too much, so it would be a welcome opportunity for Draco to be alone with his thoughts.

Draco directed Astoria through the manor and out one of the backdoors that led to the estate’s extensive gardens. The crisp mid-October air was refreshing on his cheeks. He closed his eyes as he sucked in a deep breath, savouring the solitude of the peaceful, cool night.

“I am so  _relieved_ to be out of there!”

Draco’s head twisted towards the witch beside him, eyeing her in disbelief.

Astoria pulled a series of bobby pins out of her hair, and the dark blonde locks fell past her shoulders. She combed her fingers through the tresses before settling her gaze at Draco. “That was so dreadfully boring, don’t you think?”

Draco had to shake his head to make sure he wasn’t imagining the conversation. “You hated that, too?”

Astoria laughed. “Oh, Merlin, yes! I wasn’t certain how much longer I could sit there listening to all that meaningless rubbish.”

They began walking down the stone-lined path, Draco’s strides matching hers.

“I don’t understand,” he said, still looking at her curiously. “If you were so appalled by the conversation, why didn’t you contribute very much?”

“I’m sure I could ask you the very same question,” she returned with an arched eyebrow, but without pausing to see if Draco would respond, she continued, “It was my father’s idea. Thought it would make your parents more receptive towards me or something. Or maybe it’s just another one of those pureblood traditions.”

Draco impulsively scoffed. “I hate that word.”

“Tradition?” Astoria smiled. “Merlin, me too. It’s just a fancy way of saying ‘outdated.’”

Draco snorted; he quite liked that way of phrasing it.

They roamed through the extensive grounds and made their way to the greenhouses. The large glass enclosements were each enchanted to maintain a different climate so the Malfoys didn’t have to worry about which species were considered “in season.”

Draco led them to the first greenhouse and held the door open for Astoria. She thanked him as she entered the space. Her face lit up as she stepped into the sea of green, evidently intrigued by the eclectic collection of exotic plants.

“Is this Pritcher’s Porritch?” she asked, her eyes alight with fascination. She cautiously reached out towards the oozing blue substance seeping out of one of the pods.

“I’d advise you not to touch that,” Draco said with a mild grin. “Herbologists still haven’t come to a conclusion on just how dangerous they think it is.” 

Astoria withdrew her hand and instead leaned in to examine it closer. “This plant is incredibly rare. How did your family manage to get one?”

Draco chuckled. “Being a Malfoy sometimes has its perks.”

“So I’ve been told,” she returned with a teasing smile. “Why else do you think I’m here?”

Draco let out a full laugh at that. “And here I thought there was a chance you were different from those stereotypical pureblood witches.”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. You’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.” Astoria winked as she disappeared around a corner and explored the rest of the greenhouse.

Draco took a moment to smile to himself before following her. Perhaps Astoria wasn’t as bad as he had originally assumed.

They roamed around the greenhouses, Astoria asking questions along the way about the Chinese Chomping Cabbage and the Cobra Lilies, all of which Draco happily answered. Astoria was unexpectedly pleasant to talk with, and by the time they exited the third greenhouse, their conversation had shifted away from the subject of plants. They exchanged stories from their time at Hogwarts, conveniently neglecting any tales from Draco’s final year. It was odd how in a school so relatively small, he had previously interacted with her so seldom. Their conversation flowed as they strolled around the grounds until they approached the large fountain located in the centre.

“Now I feel foolish for having never spoken to you when we were younger,” Draco concluded as they both settled onto the concrete edge around the fountain.

Astoria briefly blushed, but she casually adjusted her hair to keep it from being too apparent. “I don’t blame you. Even in a shared living space, it was easy not to know everyone. But I’m glad we’re getting to know each other now.”

To his surprise, Draco quite agreed with the sentiment. Their time together since the dinner had been enjoyable. If his parents had simply suggested him spending time with Astoria one-on-one instead of having to go through the whole ordeal of inviting her and her parents for a formal meal, perhaps Draco wouldn’t be as opposed to this whole courting process.

Astoria was everything his parents could hope for in a future daughter-in-law; she was well mannered, intellectually curious, and of course, pureblood. She would be the perfect candidate to rectify and reestablish the Malfoy’s status in the social circles his parents cared so deeply about.

Their pause in the conversation perpetuated, and Draco let his vision focus on the witch seated beside him. The moonlight illuminated her features, causing the wisps of her dark blonde hair to shine more vibrantly than he had noticed previously. The thought didn’t completely settle well with him, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Draco agreed to pursue Astoria. She was pretty. She was interesting to talk to. She didn’t seem to subscribe to the typical pureblood mentality. And submitting to this would make his life so much less complicated.

Astoria glanced down at her lap and then back up at Draco, her eyes wide as she gazed at him. Draco’s heartbeat started to quicken, and the next thing he knew, Astoria was leaned over, kissing him.

Draco closed his eyes and engrossed himself in the sensation of her lips pressed against his. They were a welcomed, warm contrast to the surrounding cool air, and yet something was off. All day, he had been consumed with nothing but thoughts about kissing, but this was not the witch he had imagined.

Draco rested his hand on her shoulder and pushed her away. “I can’t,” he mustered, recognising the obvious weakness in his voice.

Astoria looked crestfallen as she peered at Draco but then her expression softened. “There’s another witch, isn’t there?" 

His heart skipped a beat. “What makes you say that?”

She half-smiled, but Draco could still read her disappointment. “I figured there must be a good reason you haven’t signed a contract yet.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean that there’s someone --”

Astoria raised an eyebrow at him, not convinced in the slightest. Apparently she was more perceptive than he had given her credit.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he grumbled, giving her a sharp warning glare.

Astoria merely laughed. “You sound like Irene Palkins when she told me she fancied Rohit Dogra back in fourth year! Of course I won’t tell anyone. What did you think I’d do? Go blabbing to the  _Daily Prophet_ or something? But back to this witch of yours. I assume she isn’t pureblood?”

Draco let out a single flat huff. “Not even close.”

“That would make things too easy, wouldn’t it?” Astoria said. She adjusted her position so her legs were now tucked underneath her, allowing her to better face Draco. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Draco pressed his hands against the concrete and leaned back. “Haven’t got a clue.” He released a deep groan. “It’s a… recent development, so I haven’t worked much out yet.”

“And needless to say you haven’t told your parents about her,” Astoria correctly surmised. “I know how tricky it can be navigating pureblood families, particularly yours. I certainly don’t envy your situation. These marriage contracts are such an archaic practice, and you clearly don’t want to get roped into one.”

“And what about you?” Draco countered, not wanting to talk about it much further in fear of what else he might admit. “If you also think this is all complete rubbish, then how come you’re participating in it?”

“My father and I came to an agreement. I would allow him to formally introduce me to potential pureblood partners while I’m still free to pursue other options. I just haven’t found someone I’m interested in yet.” Astoria paused to shrug. “Well, for a moment there, I thought I might have, but it turns out his heart is already taken.”

In another life, maybe things could have worked between them. But he couldn’t go any further with this on good conscience until he properly sorted out his feelings towards Hermione.

“I’m sorry,” Draco eventually muttered.

Astoria sighed. “I am, too.”

~*~*~

Back in the manor, the Greengrasses and Malfoys gathered in the atrium to bid their farewells.

“Thank you for having us, Mrs Malfoy,” Astoria said, her hair carefully returned to its former design. “You have a beautiful home, and the meal was delicious.”

“The pleasure was mine,” Narcissa returned.

The two women shared a kiss on both cheeks before Astoria turned to Draco.

“I had a lovely time tonight,” she said, maintaining her reserved, formal demeanour in front of their parents.

Draco nodded and even managed a smile. “I did as well." 

They had agreed that it was best to end the night by acting as if their conversation outside hadn’t happened. In the morning, they would both tell their parents that they weren’t interested in pursuing it any further. But for now, they kept up the facade for appearances’ sake.

She leaned in and settled a single kiss on Draco’s cheek before whispering, “Don’t risk losing your witch.”

As she pulled away, their eyes met for a brief second, the sincerity of her words apparent in her gaze.

Beside them, their fathers exchanged a firm handshake.

“We’ll be in touch,” Lucius said to Mr Greengrass, who nodded his agreement.

A few moments later, the Greengrasses departed the manor, leaving Draco alone with his parents.

“That went well,” Narcissa said, resting her hand on Lucius’s shoulder. “Now was that really so bad, Draco?”

“No, Mother,” he mustered, willing the evening to be over so he could finally return to his room. He wasn’t in the mood to argue with them that night.

“That’s a good match,” Lucius declared, fixing a stern expression at his son. “I advise you not to mess it up.”

They wished him a good night, and Narcissa and Lucius began walking towards the staircase up to their bedroom. After a few paces, Narcissa looked back at him with an all too satisfied grin that made Draco’s stomach churn.

At last, the long day was coming to a close. Draco stood in the atrium, running his hands down his face, still trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened since he had woken up. The museum with Hermione, the revelation of his feelings, the dinner with Astoria. His brain didn’t even know where to begin with processing it all. Yet, amongst all the chaos, Astoria’s parting words stood out in the crowded chambers of his mind.

 _Don’t risk losing your witch_.

Draco would laugh if he wasn’t so emotionally exhausted. Hermione would have some rather choice words for him if he ever declared her as ‘his,’ and that was assuming there was any chance she felt the same about him. But that didn’t mean he wanted to lose her, in whatever capacity that could be. His relationship with Hermione meant something to him, even if matters ultimately resulted in them remaining friends.

Draco called for the nearest house elf who soon returned with a tumbler and a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky. It had been a long, mentally draining day, and it was far past time for that drink.

Finally alone in the solitude of his room, Draco sat at his desk chair and poured a hefty glass of the cinnamony drink. He took a generous sip before returning the vessel to the wooden surface with a thunk. Just one drink and then Draco would go to bed and pray for a better day tomorrow. At least tomorrow was Saturday. Even if he wasn’t currently trying to put space between him and Hermione, it wasn’t in their routine to see each other on the weekends.

Draco picked up his glass again and drank.

Damn, Granger. How had he let her get into his head like this?

Two solid gulps and the glass was empty.

Every day. He wanted to see her every bloody day of the week.

He refilled the glass.

Why couldn’t he have settled for Astoria? Then he and Hermione could have remained friends, and he wouldn’t be stuck in this mess.

This one didn’t last much longer than the first.

 _Friends_. He was quickly starting to despise that word.

Two more glasses later.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he denying himself from seeing her?

The last amber drop from the bottle dripped into Draco’s glass.

Fuck it. If he wanted to see Hermione, he was going to damn bloody well go see Hermione. And why wait when he could see her right now?

A few minutes and a lot of stumbling while putting on Muggle clothes later, Draco focused on the memory of standing outside Hermione’s flat and channelled all his energy on Apparating to that location.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to the wonderful LightofEvolution, but another shout out to mhcalamas who helped me bunches with this chapter. Make sure to check out her FANTASTIC story Memorised which constantly has me on pins and needles and (unlike this story) updates regularly. 
> 
> And of course, thank you all for reading and for your wonderful words after the last chapter. I was thrilled with the response to Astoria! She may or may not pop back up again in a future chapter ;) But until then, I hope you like this next chapter, and make sure to let me know what you think! Every single one of your comments makes my day!

Several loud thunks echoed through Hermione’s flat, and she startled at the disruption of her sleep. She looked at the time. It hadn’t even been an hour since she had slipped into bed. After a long evening at work, slumber hung heavy on her eyelids, and Hermione opted to ignore the disturbance. 

The thunks continued only now they seemed to be getting closer. Dear Merlin, who was causing such a commotion this late at night? If she wasn’t already so comfortable in bed and her wand wasn’t so far away, Hermione would have cast a Silencing Charm to keep the noise out. She scrunched her eyelids closed, trying to ignore the sound, but it didn’t seem to be stopping.

The loud yells of her neighbour seeped through her windows.

“Oi! What do you think you’re doing! My kids are sleeping in here!”

Hermione tried to drown the argument out with her pillow, but the muffled cries were making it too difficult for her to return to her peaceful state. Highly irritated by the situation, she shoved off the covers to give the offenders a piece of her mind.

The glass pane slid open, and Hermione stuck her head out in irritated dismay. She took in a breath, preparing to chide both parties and insist that they cease their late night tirade, when she glanced down at the street and recognised the patch of blond locks.

“I said I want to see Granger! G-r-a--" 

“Draco?”

The wizard in question’s face lit up when he saw her, and the rock in his hand fell to the ground.

“You know this bloke?” her neighbour snarled out of his bedroom window.

Though she doubted Draco would be able to see it from that distance, Hermione raised a dissatisfied eyebrow at him anyway. “Unfortunately.”

“In that case, tell your boyfriend to stop throwing rocks at the wrong window!”

Heat rushed to Hermione’s cheeks, but before she could correct the man, he slammed his window shut.

Draco pointed a lazy finger in her direction, his balance teetering. “I found you!”

A mild smile threatened to reveal itself across Hermione’s lips as she shook her head back and forth at the absurdity of the scene. Discovering Draco calling for her from outside her flat window past eleven on a Friday night wasn’t exactly how she had imagined seeing him next. Yet despite how much she knew she should be annoyed, she couldn’t shake the jitters fluttering inside her. Suddenly, sleep no longer felt important.

“Stay right there, Draco. I’m coming down.”

Crookshanks purred his disapproval at whatever had dared disrupt his slumber as Hermione shoved her slippers on. A calming pat on Crookshanks’ head later, Hermione slipped out of her bedroom and ran downstairs.

“And what precisely was your plan?” Hermione asked by way of greeting. “Continue throwing rocks at the windows until I appeared?”

Draco stumbled over something on the pavement as he approached the door. He pressed both hands against her cheeks, his cool touch sending a short tingle pulsing through her body.

“It worked didn’t it? And besides, I had to see you.”

His breath was contrastingly hot and reeked of alcohol.

Hermione surveyed his wobbly state. “Merlin, Draco. Are you drunk?”

Draco knocked his head back and laughed. “Out of my bloody mind!”

He removed his hands, and for a moment, Hermione missed the sensation of his skin against hers, until Draco reached down and intertwined their fingers. She barely had enough time to note the way their hands so easily fit together before he dragged her out of the building.

She let out a surprised squeal at the sudden movement. “And just what do you think you’re doing now?” she asked with an accompanying laugh. Drunk Draco Malfoy was much more handsy than she was accustomed to.

“Let’s do something,” he proffered, and then his eyes grew wide with an idea. “Show me another museum.”

He tried pulling her farther away from her building, but his intoxicated state made it easy for Hermione to hold her ground.

“You do realise it’s after eleven, don’t you? Or have you not noticed that the sky is pitch black and that I’m standing here in my pyjamas?”

Draco eyed her up and down, taking in her appearance, and his lips instantly curled into an amused grin. Apparently he really hadn’t noticed her matching top and bottom pink flannel pyjama set with little white cartoon figures that read “Molar Bear” underneath.

He held a fist in front of his lips to try to block the ever-growing grin, but it did nothing to stifle the chuckles that broke loose.

Hermione knocked him on the shoulder with the ball of her hand. “They were a birthday present from my mother!” she defended, feeling the warmth beginning to prickle once more against her cheeks.

“That doesn’t mean you actually had to wear the atrocious things.”

“Yes, well, they’re extremely comfortable,” she opposed with a huff. “And it wasn’t as if I was expecting company tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow at her drunk companion who merely stared at her with that stupid grin which ran the risk of becoming permanently plastered across his features. He really could be a total pain in the arse, be it drunk or sober. Yet despite her grievances, Hermione was sincerely glad to see him -- although she would much prefer to continue their late night meeting in the warmth of her flat.

“Now, if you’re done trying to drag me through London in the middle of the night, let’s get you upstairs and sober you up.”

That statement was much easier said than done. Even getting Draco up the first flight of stairs took significant effort and guidance on her part. At first, Draco was adamant that a Sobering Potion wasn’t necessary, but his attitude shifted significantly after he tripped over one of the steps and collided with the wooden panels.

“Alright, you win, Granger,” he grumbled, face twisted in pain.

“I haven’t seen anyone this drunk since Seamus at Dean’s birthday party last year,” Hermione remarked with a snigger as she helped Draco return to his feet. His knees began to buckle and Hermione rushed to drape his arm over her shoulder for added support. “I don’t know whether I should be more shocked or impressed that you managed to get here all the way from Diagon Alley in one piece.”

Draco released a short puff of air. “Diagon Alley? Who said anything about Diagon Alley? I Apparated from the manor.”

“What?!” Hermione paused on the step they were on to stare at Draco. “How could you think that was a good idea? A Muggle could have seen you! Or worse, you could have splinched!”

Draco shrugged, slightly swaying closer towards her in the process. “Floo makes me nauseous when I’m drunk, so that didn’t leave me with another choice.”

“That still wasn’t a good decision,” Hermione reprimanded as she resumed their journey up the stairs.

But Draco wasn’t fazed in the least. “It was if it meant I got to see you.”

After a few more stumbles and some readjusting of her grip so that Hermione had a better hold on him, they reached her flat. The moment she opened the door, Hermione became instantly aware of just how modest her home was compared to the opulence of Malfoy Manor. The space was small, but that had never bothered Hermione who always preferred to keep things simple and neat. All she needed to be happy were the bookshelves that contained her hundreds of volumes, the television that was her favourite perk of living in a Muggle unit, and the “well loved” sofa that her parents had given her when she had moved in. As Ron would always say about the Burrow, it wasn’t much, but it was home.

Not letting this temporary concern distract her from her mission, Hermione proceeded into the kitchen where she kept all her potions supplies. Draco followed closely at her feet like a loyal puppy dog.

“Why do you have to live on the third floor?” he remarked while Hermione began rummaging through her cabinets for the necessary ingredients. “Did you desperately miss that long trek up to Gryffindor Tower or something?”

Hermione laughed as she pulled out a jar of Boom Berries. “We can’t all live in a fancy manor,” she playfully quipped.

Draco half-chuckled, half-scoffed. “It’s not as great as it’s made out to be.”

Hermione peered at him curiously, intrigued by his retort. Although he played it off casually, Hermione got the sense that there was more behind the statement. From the little that Draco had previously shared with her, she could reasonably infer that his relationship with his parents was complicated. He had complained about attending family dinners and mentioned his father’s dismay at his author career, and yet Draco had willingly lied in his book to maintain the story that he hadn’t recognise them that fated spring day. She was naturally curious to know more about what exactly was happening inside Malfoy Manor nowadays.

Meanwhile, Draco was lost in fascination at all the unfamiliar Muggle instruments. He began fiddling with the dials of the oven, watching in amazement as the illuminated neon-green digits fluctuated as he rotated the knobs. Hermione carefully removed his hand, not trusting him around anything that could burn him, and gave him a digital timer for him to examine instead.

Now clearly wasn’t the time for her to bring up such a potentially sensitive subject. Draco was drunk beyond belief, and she didn’t want to take advantage of his intoxicated state by prying further than he would be willing to share sober.

Instead, she decided to move past the remark and return her focus to the creation of a Sobering Potion. Hermione continued to search through her cabinets until she had assembled all the ingredients on the counter as well as a mortar, pestle, and standard sized cauldron. She wasn’t in the habit of getting so drunk that she required a Sobering Potion before bed, but now she was starting to think twice about not keeping a spare vial around for unforeseen circumstances. Luckily, it was a fairly straightforward concoction and shouldn’t take her too long to brew.

The clinking sound of the glass jars echoed through the small space as Hermione measured out the correct amount of each substance and returned the containers to the granite surface. She was in the process of crushing the snake fangs when Draco interrupted her concentration.

“You’re going to want to add three pinches of dried Willybig stings,” Draco offhandedly remarked while pulling back on one of the metal loops of the whisk that now captivated his attention. 

Hermione set down the pestle and pried the whisk out of his grip before returning it to the utensils holder. “I assume you mean dried _Billywig_ stings?” Hermione repeated, raising a taunting eyebrow at him. “And I’ve never heard of them being used in a Sobering Potion.”

“Close enough,” Draco retorted with a swat of his hand. “You know what I meant. And trust me. It will make it more effective.”

Not putting much faith in his current mental state, Hermione opted to ignore Draco’s suggestion and returned to the crushing of the snake fangs. It wasn’t long, however, before Draco shuffled behind her and leaned over her to reach into the potions ingredients cabinet. His firm chest pressed against her back as he stood on his tiptoes to dig deeper into the space.

“And what are you doing _now_?” Hermione asked, giggling at the unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, sensation of Draco rubbing up against her.

“You need the Willybig… _Billywig_ stings,” he said as he pulled one of the vials from the cabinet and brought it directly in front of his face in order to properly read the label. He scrunched his eyes to make the print clearer before returning the first vial into the cabinet and pulling out another.

Hermione couldn’t help but be amused by Draco’s efforts. “You know, this would be ten times easier if you just asked me to do it,” she said, her body flush with the counter so Draco could better access the cabinet.

“Got it!” he announced, lifting one of the vials up in triumph. He set the vibrant blue substance onto the counter. “Dried Bil-ly-wig stings,” he made sure to clearly state this time. “Three pinches.”

Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have respected Draco’s Potions advice, but this situation called for a guaranteed solution. Yet Draco looked far too proud of himself for Hermione to flat out reject his suggestion, so she decided to at least pretend to go along with the idea.

“Okay, Draco,” Hermione said with a soft smile. “Three pinches.”

Draco keenly observed her every movement as Hermione finished with the snake fangs and smashed the Boom Berries to create enough juice. Once she was done with the rest of the preparations, Hermione mixed all the ingredients together in the cauldron until they turned a deep shade of plum. Feeling Draco’s awaiting gaze, Hermione picked up the vial of dried Billywig stings and pretended to add three pinches.

The potion was nearly finished, and she was in the midst of completing one of the final clockwise rotations when Draco pulled the wooden spoon out of her hand.

“You didn’t put in the dried Billywig stings.”

“Of course I did,” Hermione lied, grabbing the spoon and setting in on the counter. “You just saw me do it.”

Draco’s grin returned as he looked at Hermione with an expression that one could easily mistake as fondness if she didn’t know him any better. “It’s cute that you think you can lie to me.”

Hermione felt her cheeks instinctively flush at his particular choice in words, but Draco continued before she could linger too much on the thought. 

“If you put the dried Billywig stings in, then why is the potion still plum and not mauve?”

She opened her lips to come up with some retort, but before she could even utter a sound, Draco raised a challenging eyebrow and she knew whatever “explanation” she came up with wouldn’t work.

“Alright, you win, _Malfoy_ ,” she surrendered, mirroring his words from when they had been in the stairwell. “No, I didn’t put them in. But can you blame me? You’re not exactly what one would consider a reliable source right now.”

She cocked her head and folded her arms against her chest, daring him to find the flaw in her logic, but Draco merely chuckled.

“You underestimate my abilities, love,” he retorted, taking a step closer so he couldn’t be more than a few inches away from her. His grin shifted into a smirk as his fingertips brushed the traces of her hairline and he tucked one of her curls behind her ear. “Even drunk, I’m still better at Potions than you. Or have you forgotten that Potions was the only class you were never able to beat me in?”

Hermione over-dramatically rolled her eyes at the presumption of his remark, paying no mind to the way her heart was beating unusually fast for the given scenario. “That’s only because Snape liked you,” she taunted in return.

Draco’s smirk only grew larger as he leaned in closer. “And what about you? Do _you_ like me?”

Hermione couldn’t hold back her snicker. “I would think that was obvious,” she said with a grin.

His teeth grazed his lower lip. “And what would you say if I said I like you?”

“I mean, I already assumed as much!” she promptly replied. “That’s kind of a necessary part of us being friends, right?”

Draco immediately pulled back, his face turned alarmingly pale. “Right,” he answered, his eyes now looking anywhere but at her. “Friends.” His footing faltered as he tried to take a step back. “Sorry, I, uh, I need --”

Without any more of an explanation, Draco turned from Hermione and located the bathroom, sealing the door behind him with a piercing _thump_.

Hermione only paused a few seconds before she followed closely behind him and knocked on the door. “Draco? Are you okay? What just happened?”

There was silence for a few moments until he finally mustered, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Hermione lingered on the other side of the door, trying to listen for any indication of what he was doing in there. Faint, distressed mutters made their way through the barrier, but Draco’s exact words were indiscernible. If she had to guess, the excessive amount of alcohol had become too much for his body, and Draco was grumbling to himself while he awaited the impending purge. What else would warrant him becoming so instantly pale? Surely it hadn’t been anything she said.

Not wanting to invade more than she already had, Hermione returned to the kitchen where the almost-finished Sobering Potion sat on the counter. After completing the final few clockwise rotations, Hermione filled a glass for Draco and then proceeded to the sofa, setting the Potion on the coffee table. She knocked her head back and sunk into the cushions while she waited for Draco to re-emerge.

Tiredness once more started to wash over her, but Hermione fought it off. Merlin, Draco was lucky she liked him as much as she did. She couldn’t think of many people she’d be willing to tolerate at such a highly intoxicated level, let alone actually enjoy their company despite their inebriated state. But over the past two weeks, their friendship had become unexpectedly important to her. Hermione had yet to regret a single second she spent with him, which was quite an impressive feat when one considered that they saw each other near daily! Then how was it that after everything they had done together lately, Draco still had even the slightest doubt that she honestly and sincerely liked him?

The bathroom door clicked open and Draco slowly trudged his way across the sitting room until he plopped down next to her.

“Feeling better?” she asked, trying to stay positive even though all signs pointed to ‘no’.

Draco grabbed one of the throw pillows and smothered his face. “Not really,” he grumbled, followed by a muffled, deep-chested groan. “Just -- It’s been a long day.”

“You seemed fine when we left the museum.”

The pillow fell to his lap as he shook his head in the opposite direction of Hermione. “A lot can happen in twelve hours.”

“Like what?” she gently pressed.

Draco remained silent as he mindlessly played with the tasselled fringes of the pillow, his attention fixated on the item. Hermione observed him carefully, trying to discern what was bothering him so much, but that was rather difficult when he refused to look at her. Evidently whatever he had tried to do in the bathroom hadn’t helped.

Hermione scooted closer and removed the pillow from his lap. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, Draco,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m your friend.”

She placed a reassuring hand on his thigh, but he instantly pushed it away.

“Yeah, I fucking know,” he snarled, snapping his head up and fixing her with a hard stare through his bloodshot eyes. Behind the harsh gaze, however, was a trace of anguish that Hermione couldn’t quite place.

“I’m just trying to help,” Hermione defended, fighting the wave of disappointment that pulsed through her at his dismissiveness. Something was evidently hurting him, but there was no need for him to shut her out like this, even if he was still drunk.

Remembering the untouched Sobering Potion, Hermione handed it to Draco. “Take this. Maybe then you will actually talk to me.”

Draco hesitated, contemplating whether or not he really wanted to rid himself from this drunken state. His weary eyes temporarily met Hermione’s, and the witch quirked an eyebrow, urging him to just drink it already. A moment later, Draco lifted the glass and chugged the thick, plum liquid. As he set the empty glass back on the table, his face twisted in disgust, and a shiver rippled down his body, the sign that the Potion had taken effect.

“Better now?”

“Somewhat,” he grumbled, keeping his head low as he raked his fingers through his hair. Hermione could just barely make out the brief smile he forced to his lips. “Perhaps my head wouldn’t still be throbbing if you’d added the dried Billywig stings like I said.“

Before Hermione could respond, he pushed himself off the sofa and strolled towards one of her bookcases, his steadiness back to normal. His fingers grazed over the spines and Hermione couldn’t help but think he was purposefully keeping his back to her.

“I didn’t mean to come off so harsh just then,” he uttered, continuing to skim the collection of Muggle and Wizarding titles. “Just -- I’ve got a lot going on in my head right now.”

“I think I’m owed a bit more of an explanation than that,” Hermione pushed. “You drunkenly showed up at my flat in the middle of the night, and you have yet to explain why it’s _me_ that you needed to see.”

Draco took a deep breath and shook his head. “It was foolish. I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, that’s-- That’s not my point.” Hermione stammered to respond. “I like spending time with you Draco. Just… maybe a bit of warning next time?” she added with a small smile even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “And as much as I enjoyed witnessing Drunk Draco Malfoy, I like you better like this.”

Draco turned back around, a resigned smile finding its way across his features. “Because we’re friends?”

“Of course we are,” she assured him once more. “I don’t know why you keep asking that. What else would we be?”

His chest slowly rose and fell as he released a long, tired sigh. “Nothing I suppose.”

He left the bookcase and returned to the sofa, leaving a full couch cushion between them.

Hermione criss-crossed her legs and turned her body so she could properly face him. “So are you finally going to tell me what caused you to get so drunk in the first place?”

Draco folded his arms across his chest as he considered the question, his tongue nervously darting across the seam of his lips. “Let’s just say that my parents and I are at an impasse about my future.”

“About your writing career?” Hermione logically deduced.

She took his silence as a yes.

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I just want to sock your father in his snooty Pureblood nose.”

This at least got a mild chuckle out of him. “I’d quite enjoy seeing that, actually.”

“And what exactly does your father think is so wrong with you being an author?” Hermione asked, curious to learn more. “What does it matter to him what career you choose? It’s not like your family needs the money.”

Draco closed his eyes and rested his head on the back cushion. There was a long pause before he finally answered.

“It’s a status thing,” he explained. It was evident that he was choosing his words wisely. “Everything with my parents is about perception. Ever since I was young, I’ve been instilled with certain expectations -- a respectable career being just one of the many things.” He paused to take a breath. “I hadn’t intended for this to happen, but there are some things you just can’t help.”

“The writing bug bit you that hard?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood, even if just temporarily.

He tilted his head so he could briefly smile at Hermione. “Believe it or not, after two years stuck in the manor, reading _can_ get boring.”

Hermione dropped her jaw in mock offence. “Say it’s not so!”

“Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it,” he taunted in return. Draco bit down on his lower lip as a grin started to spread, but it quickly faded, replaced instead by another sigh. “Anyway, that’s the situation. And I don’t know what to do about it because what I want and what he wants are no longer aligned.” 

Hermione didn’t quite understand. “If that’s the case, why are you letting your father’s opinions influence you?”

Draco released a long, heavy groan as he sank further into the sofa. “Because as much as I disagree with him, he’s still my father.”

Their conversation during that first lunch together at the sandwich shop came back to her, and Hermione recalled what Draco had said when she asked why he had been willing to lie in his book in order to maintain his parents’ status in the pureblood community.

_While I may not always agree with my father, he is and forever will be the only father I have. Believe it or not, I still care for him even if I spend the majority of my day cursing half the things he does._

Hermione softened her gaze as she looked at Draco, starting to better understand his perspective even though she still didn’t approve of the approach.

“You have the right to make your own decisions, Draco,” she cautioned.

Draco stared at the ceiling. “I am very much aware of that. But sometimes things are a lot easier said than done.”

“Would it help if you moved out of the manor?”

His attention quickly shifted to Hermione, his eyebrows coming together in confusion. “Why would I move out of the manor?”

Hermione hoped she hadn’t crossed a line with her suggestion, but she answered anyway. “If they’re trying to control your life, it would probably be beneficial to put some physical distance between you and your parents. And moving out can be the first step in establishing your own life.”

Draco merely blinked. “But Malfoy Manor is my home. Every member of the Malfoy line since the eleventh century has lived within those walls their entire life.” Draco released a defeated sigh as he shook his head. “And I know how insane this sounds considering everything they’ve done, but I don’t want to lose my parents. They’re the only family I’ve got.”

Hermione tucked her legs up onto the sofa and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I get it. Family is important to me, too,” she said, striving to maintain an even tone despite the nerves that had suddenly washed over her. She worried her bottom lip and kept her gaze downward, not sure if she could stomach looking at Draco when she confessed the next bit of information. “Did you know I Obliviated my parents’ memories during the war?”

Hermione didn’t need to look up to feel Draco’s shocked reaction.

“I had no idea,” he mustered.

His fingers twitched by his side. She knew that bringing up anything pertaining to the war was risky, but it felt necessary to share this piece of her past so he could truly understand.

She slowly drew in a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs, before continuing. “That’s part of the reason why it’s so important to me that I live somewhere where it’s easy for them to visit. I’m forever grateful for the Mediwitches who made it possible for me to still have them in my life.” She began fidgeting with the sleeves of her pyjamas. “I know what it’s like to risk everything for the safety of your parents, so I, perhaps more than anyone, sincerely understand your fear of not wanting to lose them, because we’ve both come terrifyingly close before. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But even though I knew it could potentially mean losing my parents forever, I did what I had to do if it meant keeping them safe.”

Hermione half-heartedly shrugged. “Perhaps this wasn’t the most eloquently put, but my point is, sometimes we prioritise what’s better for our family members even if it’s not what we personally would prefer. I Obliviated my parents’ memories. You joined the Death Eaters. We did what we thought we had to do, even though it wasn’t our preferred choice. But if you were willing to do that for your family, why aren’t your parents just as willing to sacrifice something they’d prefer if it means making you happier?”

When Hermione finally looked up, Draco was staring at her with a mixture of sympathy and disbelief. He opened his mouth a few times to try to speak, but no words ever came out. Not that it was necessary; her question didn’t exactly have an easy answer.

Tiredness once more fighting its way to the surface, Hermione laid across the sofa, her head gently landing in Draco’s lap. He seemed to tense at the unexpected sensation, but after several moments, his fingers began cautiously carding through her curls.

“I’m glad your parents got their memories back,” he whispered.

Hermione sighed, relaxing under his soothing touch. “I am, too.” She closed her eyes as she laid there contentedly. “Let’s talk about something else,” she proposed, not wanting that conversation to be how they finished the evening. “Have you started _The Two Towers_ yet?”

“Haven’t had the chance,” Draco said, still running his fingers through her hair. He hesitated a moment and then continued, “How about you just tell me about the rest of your day?”

Hermione perked up, once again finding herself sitting upright. An instant smile graced her lips. “I can’t believe I haven’t told you yet!” The development of that afternoon had slipped from the forefront of her mind when she had been so immersed with everything else between her and Draco that evening. Her chest warmed as she proudly shared, “We had a meeting with the head of the company, and I’m now going to be working with both the Literacy and Muggle Studies departments!”

She beamed at Draco’s resulting smile.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Although this better not mean I’ll be seeing less of you, or I might just have to throw more rocks at your window now that I know which one is yours.”

“Only if you’re not drunk the next time!” she returned with a laugh. “But I will warn you that things are going to be hectic around the office again. The Ministry decided we need to scale back the program’s number of hours a week.”

Draco leaned in and pinched her side, eliciting a squeal out of Hermione as she wriggled at the touch and threw herself back into his lap.

“Was that or was that not precisely what I said?” he proclaimed, his grin growing ever wider. “Admit that I was right and you were wrong!”

Hermione giggled, Draco’s reactions exactly what she had predicted. His grey eyes twinkled with delight as he gazed down at her, and Hermione felt the urge to nibble on the edge of her bottom lip. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and as she peered up at Draco, Hermione had no doubt she looked equally happy, perfectly content with how their evening had turned out.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to LightofEvolution and once again to mhcalamas who both provide me with so much feedback and keep me sane as I write this thing. This chapter's a bit on the shorter side than my usual chapters, but I'd rather get this update to you and let the next chapter stand on its own :) Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

When the world slowly came into focus the next morning, Draco was immediately confronted with two gleaming yellow eyes surrounded by matted ginger fur. Forever suspicious of anything with red hair, Draco forced himself fully awake but settled as soon as he recognized the animal for what it was. He vaguely recollected seeing the unsightly beast stalking through the halls of Hogwarts, but he had never connected that the ugly feline belonged to Hermione. Now it seemed obvious that only she would be able to love such a creature. 

It took a few more minutes for Draco to piece together what exactly he was still doing in Hermione’s flat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spent an entire night asleep on a sofa; in fact, Draco highly doubted he had ever done such an act before. But after he and Hermione had stayed up until past one in the morning continuing to chat, she had insisted on him staying over. Despite Draco’s protests that he was perfectly fine to Apparate home, Hermione refused to hear it. At least she hadn’t suggested them sharing her bed. There was no way Draco would have been able to sleep a wink if they had.

Draco’s attention shifted to the closed door that led to her bedroom and a tightness clamped inside his chest. Fuck, he had nearly slipped too far into dangerous territory last night. Coming to Hermione’s while drunk certainly wasn’t the brightest decision he had ever made, but it was true that he had desperately wanted to see her. Too much had happened the day before and even though his newly discovered feelings towards her were part of that problem, she was still the person he could rely on to make everything seem better.

The ginger cat arose from its seated position and paced atop the glass coffee table, it’s bushy tail swaying with the movement. It leaned down and with its nose, began nudging a piece of parchment in Draco’s direction until the wizard read it.

_Good morning Sleepy Head,_

_Wanted to get a jump start on the day and already headed into the office. Don’t you dare say anything about it being a Saturday. I told you that things are back to being crazy at work! But I will say that I had fun last night, even if you were a drunken mess half the time._

_Your friend,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. Did you know that you snore?_

Momentary relief flooded through Draco when he started reading Hermione’s note. She had fun. He hadn’t managed to drunkenly bollocks up their relationship. And if she was at her office, then he was spared from her morning-after interrogation to pry deeper into why exactly he had shown up at her place so late. But all those thoughts were quickly superseded by the disappointment that settled in his stomach when he reached that blasted word.

_‘Friend.’_

Seriously, was the universe trying to rub it in at this point?

Draco knocked his head back against the old, ragged, upholstered sofa that his mother would never dare touch, let alone sleep on. He grimaced as he recalled what was by far the worst moment of the night before, cringing at the memory of how he had so drastically misinterpreted part of their conversation. He had so desperately wanted to believe there was even the faintest possibility Hermione liked him, too, that in his drunken haze, he had clung to any indicator that she felt the same.

And she did like him. Just not like that.

Matters certainly would be easier if he and Hermione remained friends and nothing more, but damn if his heart hadn’t faltered when she had rested her head in his lap. He had prayed to Merlin, Agrippa, and whatever deity Muggles believed in that his body wouldn’t betray him and reveal how much the simple gesture affected him. But that concern felt irrelevant compared to the significance of what Hermione had just shared with him about her parents. All that mattered was comforting her.

As he combed his fingers through her curls, Draco fended off the thoughts about how easy it would be for him to lean in and taste those lush lips that had been taunting his fantasies the past twelve hours. But despite how much he wanted it, then had not been the proper moment. Hermione needed the comfort of her friend, regardless of how much that pained him to say.

The set of yellow eyes resumed its staring at Draco, likely curious what this unfamiliar man was still doing in his home when its owner had already left. Draco had to admit that it was a valid question. And yet, Draco wasn’t prepared to leave. The sun was just beginning to peek through the gaps in the building so by Draco’s estimations, it couldn’t be much past nine. Breakfast in the manor must have just started, and he ought to get home and tell his parents that he wasn’t interested in pursuing Astoria. But he needed a few more minutes of peaceful solitude before subjecting himself to that impending conversation.

Draco pushed himself off the sofa and the cat jumped off the coffee table to follow him. Taking advantage of the extra time in Hermione’s flat, Draco roamed around the small space, soaking in the little pieces of Hermione that he had overlooked while intoxicated. Most of the decorations were modest yet homely. The windows were adorned with deep grey curtains that matched the sofa, and the throw pillows complimented the floral landscape painting that hung on the main wall. There were a few objects that Draco didn’t understand, primarily the large black rectangle that was in front of the sofa. He was about to press one of the buttons on its side when he became distracted by the two framed photographs rested on one of the side tables.

The first one was in an intricate silver frame and piqued Draco’s interest because, for some reason, the people in the picture did not move. He picked it up and shook it to see if it was frozen, but upon closer examination, Draco realised that the people in the photo must be Hermione and her parents. Hermione was significantly younger in the picture, perhaps just before they had entered Hogwarts. Her hair was somehow bushier than he remembered, but what caught his attention the most was her massive smile. He had forgotten how much larger her front teeth used to be before he had accidentally hit her with the _Furnunculus_ hex instead of Potter, only to then laugh in her face as her front teeth extended beyond her lower lip and towards her chin.

A tinge of remorse settled in his gut. There were so many things he’d do differently if he had to experience Hogwarts all over again, his treatment of Hermione just one of many.

His attention then shifted to the second photograph of her, Potter, and Weasley. Unlike the photograph with her parents, this one was much more recent. If Draco had to guess, the photo couldn’t be more than a year old. The three of them appeared to be laughing at something while Hermione had her arms draped around her two best friends.

There was that word again. He was stuck in the same category as Potter and Weasley: _Hermione Granger’s Friends._ That thought alone made his resentment towards the word even more significant.

But there was still a chance she could grow to like him more than that, right? After all, it hadn’t even been three weeks since they had begun spending so much time together. Considering their strained history, he couldn’t reasonably expect her to feel that way about him so suddenly. Provided that Draco did in fact build up the courage to refuse to go through with a marriage contract, perhaps their friendship could one day blossom to something more. Just look at her and Weasley. They had been friends for six years before they started dating.

Revulsion lingered on Draco’s tongue. If Draco hated being in the same category as her two Gryffindor sidekicks, he _detested_ that he hoped for a similar destiny as her red-headed ex.

Having had enough of staring at Potter and Weasley, Draco stepped away from the side table and regarded Hermione’s closed bedroom door. What more could he learn about Hermione if he got a glimpse inside?

But he wouldn’t cross that barrier. It was her private space, and he wouldn’t intrude.

The ugly feline sat on the hardwood floor right at Draco’s feet, tilting his head and still eyeing him curiously.

“Okay, Cat,” Draco said. “You win. I’ll leave you alone now.”

Draco sucked in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to return to the manor. He doubted his parents would have noticed his late night disappearance, especially if he arrived in time for the end of breakfast. But the idea of stepping foot in the manor now made him feel uneasy, remembering Hermione’s suggestion from the night before.

 _Move out_? He had never even considered the idea. It was unheard of for a Malfoy to live anywhere other than their ancestral home. It just didn’t happen.

Just like how it was unheard of for a Malfoy to consider anyone other than a pureblood as their spouse.

Great. Just what he needed. Another thing to muddle up his already cluttered mind.

Nothing needed to be decided now, though. For the time being, he still lived in Malfoy Manor. And first things first, he needed to tell his parents that he wasn’t interested in Astoria.

~*~*~

“I wasn’t expecting you to show up.” His father’s vision only lingered on Draco for a fleeting second before he returned to the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_.

“Good morning, dear,” Narcissa greeted him in a much more pleasant tone. “Did you sleep well?”

“Fine enough,” Draco returned as he took his usual seat in the middle of the elongated table. His breakfast appeared on the plate before him and a teapot floated over to fill his cup. He mixed in a single spoonful of sugar before blowing on the hot surface and taking a sip.

“I imagine you’re quite exhausted after the day you had yesterday,” Narcissa said from behind her teacup.

 _You only know the half of it_ , Draco thought.

“But since you’re here,” his mother continued, “we should schedule a second meeting with Miss Greengrass and her parents sooner rather than later.”

His teacup rattled as he returned it to the saucer. It was earlier in the conversation than he would have preferred, but that was as good of an opener as he was going to get.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, playing it off as casually as he could. Below the table his toes were tapping the inside of his shoes and his left hand was clenched around his knee. But he had made his decision, and now he just had to utter the words. He swallowed and finished, “Astoria and I have decided not to see each other again.”

The silence he had come to expect after any sign of disagreement with his parents once again filled the dining room. Lucius set down the newspaper to glare at his son, while Narcissa merely blinked at him in disbelief.

“And when did you two come to that conclusion?” Lucius demanded.

“While we were out in the gardens,” Draco replied, his whole right leg starting to bounce. “We realised that we don’t have much in common and mutually agreed that it is for the best not to proceed any further in the courting process with one another.”

Lucius shook his head as he returned his attention to the newspaper. “You’re making a grave mistake, Draco,” he said, his voice flat and apathetic. “But I suppose that’s just what I’ve come to expect from you nowadays. Disappointment after disappointment.”

Draco’s nose wrinkled at his father’s remark, fighting not to reveal how much the insult affected him. His fingers dug deeper into his skin, convinced they would leave a mark. On the surface, however, Draco remained resolute.

“If I recall correctly, you two gave me absolute say in which witch I ultimately marry,” Draco said through clenched teeth.

“As long as she’s pureblood,” his father added, not bothering to lift his eyes away from the paper.

“As long as she’s pureblood,” Draco bitterly repeated, despising each syllable that he forced out his lips. But now was not the time for that argument. _One step at a time,_ he reminded himself.

“Just because it wasn’t instant sparks between you and Miss Greengrass does not mean that you shouldn’t see her again,” Narcissa supplied, not letting the topic remain on the sore subject of blood status any longer. “Your father and I required several meetings before we decided to sign our contracts, and even then our relationship took time to build.”

“And why can’t I just build a relationship the normal way?” Draco countered. It was taking all his self-control not to succumb to another full-on argument with his parents, but that method had already proved unproductive. That, and he didn’t currently have the energy for it.

“This _is_ the normal way,” Narcissa said, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Clearly she had missed Draco’s point. “Pureblood families have been doing it this way for centuries.”

Draco leaned back in his chair and knocked his head back so he was staring at the ceiling. “In other words, it’s another beloved _tradition_?”

“Watch your tone,” Lucius sneered, taking a small, vicious pause before pressing, “If you’re so much wiser than us, what do you propose instead?”

Draco stiffened himself upright, refusing to succumb to the temptation of mindless compliance, and rubbed his temples. “I don’t know exactly, but there’s certainly a better way than a surprise dinner with a witch of your choosing _and_ her parents,” he contended. “How can you expect me to get to know someone on any sort of intimate level when our parents are flanking us on either side?”

Lucius glared at his son. “Because it’s tradition.”

“And some traditions ought to be ended,” Draco spat in return, no longer able to withhold his bitterness. “Or have you learned nothing from the war? The war that we _lost_.”

Draco could feel his mother gaping at him, but his harsh stare fixated on his father who was staring back at him with equal disdain.

“I am not interested in entertaining your childish insolence,” Lucius snarled. “War or not, the expectations of this family have not changed. You are a Malfoy. Start acting like it.”

And with that, Lucius pushed back his chair and discarded his napkin on the table. Seconds later, the dining room door slammed closed behind him.

Draco returned to his breakfast, embracing the silence. His heart was still hammering, but all things considered, it wasn’t the worst argument he’d ever had with his father.

Logic reminded him that this was far from the end of the conversation and that they were no closer to a resolution. And yet, an inkling of pride burrowed itself in Draco’s chest. It was a minor victory, but at least he had voiced his opinion and his parents hadn’t forced him to see Astoria again.

What would they try next, though? Draco didn’t want to know.

Meanwhile, Narcissa was observing her son, her eyes not once flickering away from him.

“Can I help you with something, Mother?” Draco eventually asked.

“You can start by explaining what has gotten into you lately,” she said, her eyes tracing the length of his body. “You’re acting as if all this is a surprise when you’ve known since you were a young boy that this is the expectation.”

“And maybe my outlook has shifted since then,” Draco grumbled. He had hoped that his father’s departure would mean the end of this topic for the time being. Clearly he wasn’t so lucky. He set down his fork as he continued, “Is it so insane that I ask for a bit more say in my own future? I have had more than enough of you and Father making my decisions for me.”

“Oh, yes,” Narcissa said with a raised eyebrow. “Because you’ve been making such wonderful decisions on your own.”

The implied reference behind his mother’s words cause a pit to settle in Draco’s gut, the memory of a particular photograph from the night before returning to the forefront of his mind. 

“What exactly do you know?” Draco said in a low voice.

“Enough,” Narcissa replied, straightening herself further upright.

“And where did you get that photo?”

“Having connections inside the _Daily Prophet_ can be beneficial in more ways than one,” she retorted, taking a careful sip from her tea. “It took a considerable amount of Galleons to ensure that your picture wasn’t on the front of the paper two days in a row, but we couldn’t let the entirety of Wizarding Britain see you sleeping out on Diagon Alley like a poor bum.” Her glare became piercing. “That was careless of you, Draco.”

“It’s not as if I fell asleep there on purpose,” he defended.

“That isn’t the point,” she declared, her lips pursing together. “You’re getting sloppy. Even your father is starting to catch on.”

Draco perked up. “You haven’t told him?”

“Not yet,” Narcissa remarked, “but if you keep being so obvious, it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out himself.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Sleeping on Diagon Alley with your hair a mess and parchments sticking out of your robes, constantly slipping out of the manor without telling us where you’re going, coming back hours later in Muggle clothing?”

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Narcissa cut him off.

“Yes, your father told me about the clothing,” she said, seeming displeased at the thought of her son in such attire. “I covered for you, but only because I did not want to ruin how well last night went. Which, apparently, was all for naught because you have once again decided to dismiss a perfectly viable option.”

“Astoria and I were never going to work out,” Draco snarled.

“Only because you refuse to put any sort of effort into this process,” Narcissa maintained. “Either way, do not expect me to do it again,” she warned, leaning in so Draco could see the severity in her eyes. “And most certainly do not take me as a fool to think that you really met with Gringotts. If you’re going to lie to me, do not make it something so easy to check.”

“And would you have preferred I told you where I really was?” he challenged, all the while hoping she didn’t say yes.

The question seemed to take Narcissa by surprise. She leaned back in her chair and pressed her lips in a thin line, seeming to consider her response before concluding, “Do not confirm anything or else I will feel obligated to tell your father, which I am certain you do not want to happen.” She paused to place her napkin on the table before peering at Draco with unexpected lenity. “I hope you are prepared for the potential consequences when your father inevitably pieces this all together,” she said, her voice firm as she spoke. “You and I both know he will not approve.”

Narcissa dismissed herself and was nearly at the door when Draco uttered the question that had been grating on him since Hermione had implanted it in his mind.

“Do you want me to be happy?”

Narcissa turned back and assessed him curiously. “How is that even a question?” she asked, a wrinkle in her forehead. “Of course I do.”

Draco swallowed, praying to Merlin he wasn’t pushing his luck too far. “And has it ever occurred to you that _this_ is what makes me happy?”

His mouth grew dry as he awaited his mother’s response, the seconds feeling like hours as she continued to stare at her son, the question seeming to turn over in her head several times as she considered her response. Eventually, Narcissa drew in a slow, steady breath, and addressed Draco cautiously. 

“If this is really that important to you, then I suggest you find a better way of going about it,” she said. The rigidity of her words sent a shiver through Draco. “Sneaking around behind your father’s back will only make things worse. Unless you want this to end in disaster, you best ease him into it. And stop making matters so difficult around here. Fighting with him is not the solution.”

Without another word, Narcissa exited the dining room, leaving Draco alone in the cavernous space.

His father didn’t know. And whatever his mother did know, she wasn’t telling him. Yet, at least.

There was hope.

Then why did Draco still feel so uneasy?

He needed someone he could talk to about this. Someone who wasn’t Astoria. Someone who would listen to his woes and only mildly judge him for it. Someone who understood his predicament.

Perhaps it was time to reconnect with some old friends.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to the lovely, lovely, lovely LightofEvolution. And another huge, massive thank you to all of you for reading. Hope you like this next installment, and I can't wait to hear what you think! :)

As expected, the Leaky Cauldron was suffocatingly crowded. Apparently Hermione and Harry were far from the only people who had selected the pub as their Saturday night locale. Hardly a single chair was available, and Hermione had to strategically manoeuvre her way through the hordes of young witches and wizards so her pint of beer didn’t spill as she searched for her long-time friend.

“Over here!” Harry shouted over the chattering masses. He waved a hand in the air so she could better spot him at one of the high top tables.

“You couldn’t have picked a less busy pub?” she asked, giving Harry a one-armed hug when she reached their spot for the evening.

Next to Harry was Ron, an expected addition to their night’s plan. At this point in their friendship, it was assumed that whenever two of their trio were doing something, the third was automatically invited as well.

“You look tired,” Ron commented as they exchanged their own short hug. “Tell us you didn’t work today!”

Hermione pushed herself onto the free chair Harry and Ron had saved for her. “I worked today,” she admitted. “But only for a few hours. Although I did get less sleep than usual.”

“Only seven and a half hours instead of your typical nine?” Ron teased. “Couldn’t fit in that extra REAM cycle you’re always talking about?”

Hermione laughed. “They’re called _REM_ cycles!” she corrected. “And actually, I barely got six. I was up until nearly two in the morning.”

“You? Up past midnight?” Harry remarked, sharing in the enjoyment of poking fun at Hermione’s habits. “It must have been a special occasion!”

Hermione took a sip from her drink then shrugged. “Not particularly. Draco just happened to stop by, and--”

A spray of beer spewed out of Ron’s lips. The half-filled glass met the table with a clunk as Ron gawped at Hermione.

“Yes, Ron, I call him Draco now. Get over it,” Hermione sharply retorted. She had already had to endure a similar conversation with Harry yesterday in her office, and she was not in the mood for her friend to make a scene over something so trivial.

Harry eyed both of his companions cautiously. “I don’t think that’s what he’s reacting to,” he said, a hint of concern and scepticism hidden in his tone. “Or at least what _I_ want to know is what the hell _Malfoy_ was doing at your place until two in the morning?”

“It’s nothing,” she dismissed, conveniently leaving out the part that Draco hadn’t actually left at that time. It was none of their business that Draco had spent the night, albeit in the other room on her sofa. Not that it’d be their business anywhere else in her flat either!

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow while Ron continued to stare at her blankly.

“Honestly!” she defended. “It was nothing. He merely got drunk after what sounded like a rough day and wanted to be with a friend.”

Ron managed to find his words again. “Doesn’t mean he had to go to _your_ place. What happened to Goyle? Or Parkinson?”

Hermione sucked in a breath, a similar question having crossed her mind the other day when she and Draco had been in the park.

“I’m not sure,” she finally responded. “He never mentions them. But that could just be because he doesn’t want to bring up any of his old housemates around me.”

Even as she said it, Hermione wasn’t convinced that was the reason. Something about their interactions had given her the impression that he wasn’t in contact with any of his Hogwarts friends anymore. She sincerely hoped for his sake that wasn’t true. Everyone needed friends to rely on, and while she valued her recently blossomed friendship with the former-Slytherin, he needed others as well.

~*~*~

Draco watched the amber liquid swirl around the tumbler before he ceased the movement to take another swig of whiskey.

They were late.

Doubt started to trickle into his mind. After sending them both an owl that morning, each had agreed to join him at the recently-opened, quiet pub on Knockturn Alley. Draco wasn’t in any mood to deal with the drunken crowds that packed Diagon on Saturday nights, and most witches and wizards still avoided the infamous street despite the Ministry’s attempt to reverse its sullied reputation.

He kept his eye on the door, waiting for his two friends to arrive, becoming more anxious every time it opened to reveal someone else. What if they stood him up? They had no obligation to him anymore; he hadn’t communicated with them in years.

Draco had initially considered contacting Goyle, but the bloke had never been one for words, let alone coherent, meaningful sentences. He wouldn’t be much assistance in helping Draco sort this out. The other two, however…

The front door swung open, and in stepped the older, but still familiar faces of Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott. It took them no time at all to locate Draco and join him at the bar.

“I don’t believe it,” Theo said, poking Draco’s cheeks to make sure he was real. “Look who ventured outside his famous gilded gates in order to grace us with his presence!”

Blaise pulled out a handful of Galleons and placed them on the bar beside Theo. “You win, mate. Turns out he really _isn’t_ too much of a big shot author to associate with us anymore.”

The old friends exchanged brief, sincere grins before Theo and Blaise took turns embracing Draco with a short hug and firm pat on the back. Three years out of Hogwarts, and they were the same taunting pricks he was proud to call his friends. All it took was a few seconds into their reunion for Draco to already feel infinitely lighter. Why hadn’t he done this sooner?

“So what have you been up to?” Draco asked once Theo and Blaise had settled onto the stools next to him. The true purpose for his invitation could wait until after the old housemates had the opportunity to catch up first.

“Oh, you know, living the Wizarding dream,” Theo casually replied, his grin still wide across his features. “Now that I’ve got the whole Nott Manor to myself, I can’t complain.”

Blaise gave him a side-eye. “That’s only because your father’s in Azkaban.”

Theo shrugged. “Doesn’t matter where he is. Amsterdam, Australia, Azkaban. Just as long as it’s not anywhere near me.”

Draco laughed despite the strange twinge of jealousy that coursed through him at his friend’s remark. They had both grown up under the harsh expectations of their Death Eater fathers, and while Draco was still battling his, Theo had avoided all that when his father had been sentenced to Azkaban in the aftermath of the war. Draco couldn’t help but wonder how his life would be different if he, too, had the same freedom.

He pushed away his mild resentment. “And what about you, Blaise?” Draco continued with the conversation. “Got a new witch you’re pursuing, I presume?”

“Camille. Just graduated from Beauxbatons in June,” he answered with a suggestive smirk. “Nothing serious, of course.”

Draco chuckled. “It never is.”

“And how about _your_ love life?” Theo asked, a single eyebrow raising towards his hairline. “You really didn’t think you could escape us discussing that _Prophet_ article, did you?”

Any remaining sentiments of jealousy were promptly replaced with unease. He had hoped to avoid this topic for at least a few minutes longer, and when it did come up, that it would be broached under his terms.

“Victoria Flint, huh?” Blaise said, drawing out her name for effect. “Pretty witch but dumb as flobberworms.”

“But hey, it’s your life,” Theo supplied, throwing his hands up in the air as if that excused him from any challenging comments. “Should we be expecting best man offers any time soon?”

Draco drew in a slow breath. He supposed there was no use delaying the inevitable. “That’s actually why I asked you here today,” he said, staring down at his half-filled tumbler.

Blaise and Theo exchanged incredulous looks.

The momentary silence was broken when Blaise uttered, “Shit, you mean you really signed a contract?”

“What?” Draco asked, pulling his attention away from the glass to stare at his friends. “Gods, no!” They seemed relieved at his remark while Draco braced himself for his next statement. He swallowed harshly. “Quite the opposite, actually,” he said, nervously carding his fingers through is pale locks. “In fact, I need your help.”

A wicked grin stretched across Blaise’s lips. “Those are my favourite words to hear from a Malfoy.”

“And what precisely is the matter?” Theo queried, and Draco was only slightly mollified by the return of his friends’ lighted-hearted banter. “Getting cold feet before there’s even ink on parchment?”

His friends smiled as they awaited his response, but Draco couldn’t think of what to say. He darted his tongue across his lips before picking up his glass and finishing what was left of the whiskey. When the glass clunk down on the bar, he peered at Blaise and Theo, his gaze undoubtedly pitiful.

They stared at him with curiosity until realisation dawned across Blaise’s expression.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Who’s the girl?”

~*~*~

“He threw _rocks_ at your window?”

“Well, not _my_ window, but that was the intention.”

Somehow, Ron and Harry had gotten Hermione to expand on the details of the night before. Normally she was the one with an endless stream of questions, but tonight it appeared that her two best friends were the ones with insatiable curiosity.

Ron shook his head. “I just don’t get it,” he resigned, taking a long pull from his beer.

Harry, on the other hand, still didn’t seem satisfied. “You seriously don’t see anything strange about all this?” he asked. “Draco Malfoy. Completely pissed. Throwing rocks. Late at night.”

Hermione’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I mean, it probably wasn’t the smartest idea he’s ever had. If he hadn’t been careful, he could have easily caused one of the windows to break and--”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry interjected. “Come on, Hermione. You’ve seen Muggle films. Under what circumstances does a male throw _rocks_ at someone’s window?”

He quirked a challenging eyebrow, and it took a few moments of careful thinking before Hermione’s jaw dropped at the implication behind her friend’s question.

“Oh, not you, too!” she cried. “You’re overthinking it!”  
  
Harry narrowed his gaze. “ _Am I_?”

“Yes!”

“Then what other explanation is there?”

“He just wanted to see me!”

Ron glanced back and forth between them. “Anyone care to fill me in?”

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. “Harry’s under the impression that all this somehow signifies that Draco _fancies_ me.”

“Like fucking hell!” Ron exclaimed. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you two are friends!”

“You have nothing to worry about, Ron” Hermione assured him. She turned to Harry as she finished, “Draco and I are _just friends_.”

“You say that now, but you and Ron started off as just friends,” Harry contested.

“And you and I have _remained_ just friends! It’s entirely possible for people of different genders to have nothing romantic between them.”

And yet, Harry still didn’t seem convinced. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but if you and Malfoy are _just friends_ as you so emphatically contend, then what was that in your office yesterday?”

Ron lit up in a mixture of alarm and revulsion while Hermione remained simply confused.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“Are you serious?” Harry asked as if it should be obvious. “Watching you two interact -- I can’t really explain it, but I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life. It was like I had walked in on something between you two even though Malfoy was the one who walked in on _us_.”

Hermione racked her memory, trying to recall if anything between her and Draco had been unusual during their pre-lunch interaction, but even after replaying it in her mind, she couldn’t fathom what could have disturbed Harry so much.

“You must have just been surprised to see us together,” Hermione finally concluded. “It was your first time ever seeing him since his trial. I’m sure that alone was jarring.”

Harry shook his head. “I know what I saw, and trust me, that’s not how friends interact.”

Hermione sighed. Clearly arguing with him about the events in her office wasn’t going to convince him that he was imagining Draco’s supposed feelings towards her. She needed to take a different approach. But how could she prove something when there was no evidence to suggest it existed in the first place?

The idea hit her.

“The _Daily Prophet_ the other week!” she said. “Certainly you saw that article about Draco!”

The blank expressions on both Ron and Harry’s faces suggested that neither one knew what she was referring to.

“I haven’t picked up a single _Daily Prophet_ since the end of the war,” Harry explained.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. “It’s important to keep yourself informed!”

Harry shrugged, a small smile gracing his lips. “Anything important I figure I’ll hear about at work, or you’ll just tell me.”

Hermione reached across the table and swatted him. “That’s not good enough!” She shook her head in displeasure. “I’m getting you a subscription for Christmas.” She quirked an eyebrow at Ron. “Both of you.”

Ron gaped at her. “How did I get roped into this?!”

“Do _you_ know what article I’m talking about?”

“No.”

“Then you need a subscription as well!” The boys groaned, already dreading their Christmas presents, while Hermione returned to her original point. “Anyway, there was a prominent article the other week about Draco being on a date with Victoria Flint. See? He’s dating other people.”

As Hermione finished the thought, her stomach churned at the resulting recollection she had blocked from the forefront of her mind. She recalled the unsettling feeling that had burrowed into her gut when she had seen him and the pretty witch through the window at Rosa Lee Teabag. Even though Draco had assured her the next day that it really hadn’t been a date and that it was all something of his mother’s concoction, the thought still wasn’t agreeable. But that was because it spurred memories of how he had cancelled their lunch plans without informing her, not because she was by any means jealous!

“And has he mentioned Victoria Flint to you since? Or any other witch?” Harry challenged, still not accepting her reasoning.

“I don’t know how else to say this,” Hermione huffed, having reached her limit for her tolerance for this topic. “Draco and I are friends. Period. That’s it. We confirmed it last night.”

“Confirming that you’re friends with someone isn’t typically something you have to do.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, maybe our friendship is just atypical.”

~*~*~

“Granger?” Theo echoed, his eyes threatening to bulge out of their sockets. “Of all the witches in Britain -- no, of all the witches in the _world_ \-- _Granger?_ ”

Blaise took a long sip from his recently arrived whiskey. “How in the name of Salazar did that happen?”

“She showed up to one of my author talks at Flourish and Blotts, and later that evening, I ran into her again at the Leaky Cauldron. We got to chatting, and we’ve been spending time together ever since.”

Theo stared at Draco. “No bloody way. Tell me you two aren't  _dating._ ”

Draco choked on his drink. “No,” he clarified. He coughed a few times to properly clear his throat before continuing, “Everything's been innocent so far. I only figured it out yesterday that I actually _like_ her.”

Blaise looked sceptical. “Have you considered that this is just a temporary thing? Your subconscious trying to stick it to your old man and what not?”

Draco tipped his head downward and shook it back and forth. “Merlin, would that make things easier, but I see her near daily, and it’s still not enough.”

“Damn, you’ve got it bad,” Blaise concluded.

“I sodding know.”

“Your father’s going to lose it when he finds out,” Theo said with an amused snicker, his attempt to lighten the dampened mood. He then faced Blaise. “Who do you think would win that duel, Granger or Lucius?” 

“My money’s on Granger!" the other wizard promptly returned.

Theo slapped his hand against the bar. “And here I was, hoping you’d say Lucius so I could get more Galleons out of you!”

“You’re both prats,” Draco half-chuckled, grateful that his friends weren’t letting him stay in his melancholy state for too long. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I need your help.”

“Whatever you need, mate,” Theo replied. “Unless it’s murder. Can’t end up in Azkaban with my father.”

Draco snorted despite the war that was beginning to build inside his mind again. He hated discussing the subject, but he needed his friends’ advice. He drew in a deep breath before asking the question that he desperately craved the answer to.  “How do I avoid getting roped into a pureblood marriage?”

Theo and Blaise looked at one another, and Theo shrugged in defeat. “You’re not exactly asking the best people on this one. With Father locked up and Mum long gone, I’m essentially a free agent.”

“And my mother doesn’t exactly have much say in who I marry when she’s on husband number nine.”

Draco groaned. “I figured as much, but I don’t know who else to ask. At least you two understand what my parents are like. They’re the quintessential pureblood couple who conjoined two powerful families and still managed to love each other.” He took a sip from his third glass of whiskey. “Hell, I’m not saying I want to marry Hermione. I just don’t want to be forced into something else right now. If it wasn’t for my parents, marriage wouldn’t even be on my radar.”

Theo peered at Draco in confusion. “What’s a radar?”

“It’s a Muggle expression,” Draco responded with a sigh. “Hermione used it once, and I think I’m using it properly?”

“Salazar’s balls, you’re enamoured!”

Draco’s head fell into his hands at Blaise’s remark. “I know,” he said, beginning to rub circles at his temples. He stayed in that position for a few seconds before lifting himself back upright. “And trust me, I wish I wasn’t. Things would be far less complicated if Hermione and I remained friends.” He ran his hands down the length of his face. “My parents even had me meet with Astoria Greengrass yesterday, and she was great...”

Theo quirked an eyebrow. “But?”

Draco chugged the rest of his drink.

“But she’s not Hermione.”

Theo laid a single pat on Draco’s back. “You, my friend, are fucked.”

Draco glared at him. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Blaise asked. “And for the love of Merlin, stop moping. It makes you look… sad.”

“That’s the issue,” Draco said, only sounding slightly less miserable. “My mother seems to know something is going on, and my father is getting increasingly suspicious that I’m hiding something. I’ve tried broaching the subject of me searching beyond the pureblood pool, but each time I have, my father only gets angry, and it ends in a large blowout.”

“We may be prats, but _you_ are an idiot _,_ ” Theo retorted, eyeing Draco with half-pity, half-disbelief. “What did you expect to accomplish with that?” 

“For my parents to accept my wishes like the adult that I am.”

Theo laughed. “Oh, you sweet, naive, pureblood prince,” he said with a taunting grin. “Of course that wasn’t going to work. Their opinions on Muggle-borns or even half-bloods aren’t going to change just because you batted your long lashes and nicely  _asked_. They need to see you interacting with her.”

“So what precisely are you suggesting? That I invite Hermione over to the Manor for dinner?” Draco scoffed. “You’re barking.”

“Perhaps not,” Blaise countered. “Dinner at the Manor? Terrible idea. Not enough witnesses to prevent someone not making it out of their alive. Some other excuse for your parents to meet her, though?” Blaise shrugged. “It could work.”

Draco wasn’t completely convinced, but he didn’t dismiss it either.

“My mother does want me to be happy,” he said just above a whisper.

“Then you gotta show her that this is what makes you happy,” Theo concluded. “And as for your father, fuck him. He’s the one who got you into that whole Death Eater mess. If he doesn’t approve, so what? He kinda owes you one.”

~*~*~

“I can’t believe we’re still discussing this!” Hermione cried, several minutes having passed since she _thought_ she had successfully ended this conversation.

“Okay, let’s think about it, Hermione,” Harry said, refusing to drop the supposed issue. “How often do you see Malfoy?”

“I don’t know. Probably three or four times a week?”

“That’s two or three times more than you see us!” Ron exclaimed.

“That’s not my fault,” Hermione defended, feeling her cheeks flush red. “You two are working!”

Ron huffed. “We have lunch breaks, too.”

“And neither of you would want to spend your lunch breaks going to a Muggle museum!” She rolled her eyes, far past the point of regretting bringing up Draco in the first place. “There’s nothing going on between me and Draco. And if you think otherwise, you’re insane.”

“Oh, really?” Harry blurted. “In this scenario, _we’re_ the insane ones?”

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Ron beat her to it.

“You know, I’m actually starting to take Harry’s side on this one,” he said. “I mean, imagine if one of us showed up at your place drunk and woke you up by throwing rocks at your window? You would have stormed downstairs and yelled at us that whatever it was could wait, not invite us inside and stay up talking until two in the morning!”

The heat continued to rush to her face. “It’s different,” she further defended, pushing past the spark of doubt that temporarily flickered in her mind. “We’re still developing our friendship so rejecting him like that would have been rude.”

“Oh, right, cause Malfoy’s never been rude to you before,” Ron said with a dismissive scoff.

“I really don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Hermione concluded, leaving no doubt that she was done discussing Draco for the evening. “I haven’t seen you guys all week, and if you don’t mind, I have other things I would like to share with you.”

“Like what?”

Hermione grinned. “Like the fact that I just got promoted to work with both the Literacy _and_ Muggle Studies departments!”

The conversation finally diverted away from Draco as Harry and Ron congratulated her on the achievement at work, and yet, there was an unfamiliar nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she would never voice to either of them.

Certainly there wasn’t any truth behind Harry’s belief. Although, come to think of it, he wasn’t the first person to say that there was something more between them... But this was absurd! She and Draco were just friends.

Right?


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with a new chapter! I needed to take a temporary step away from this story a variety of reasons, but I am thrilled to finally have a new chapter. Since the last time this updated, I published two new one-shots, so once you finish this, maybe check those out as well?
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful LightofEvolution, and if you knew what she did to improve this chapter for the infinite better, you'd be thanking her as well. If you're looking for a laugh, I highly recommend her new crack(ish) one-shot Bat Timing. 
> 
> Can't wait to hear what you think of this one :)

Draco’s head pulsed as he downed the vial of Hangover Potion he had been forward-thinking enough to set on his bedside table in anticipation of his outing with Blaise and Theo the night prior. The sun had only recently crept above the horizon, no more than a handful of hours after he had finally managed to fall asleep, having laid awake for what had felt like hours contemplating what to do next.

They made it sound so easy — just introduce Hermione to his parents. _Psh._ How exactly was Draco supposed to do that without arousing more suspicions? And none of this considered whether Hermione would even be _willing_ to meet with his parents.

After the things his family had done in the war, it would be understandable if she didn’t take too kindly to the idea of being in their presence again. But it wasn’t entirely impossible either. Since she had forgiven Draco, there was a solid possibility that she would be agreeable to meeting with his mother given that the older witch had shown hesitation towards the Death Eater cause at the final battle. His father, however, would be a different issue. Draco wouldn’t blame Hermione if she vowed to never see the wizard again. Even Draco could hardly stand being in the same room as him nowadays.

And yet, Draco still forced himself to tug on a pair of Muggle trousers and a button-down shirt for Sunday breakfast. His choice in attire was bound to irritate his father, but Draco hoped it would divert the older wizard’s suspicions about Draco’s activities on Friday afternoon. If he was lucky, perhaps Lucius would believe this parting from traditional Wizard clothing to be nothing more than Draco harmlessly challenging his parents’ expectations. It was worth trying. At the very least, Draco would get mild satisfaction out of ruining his father’s morning.

His parents’ conversation ceased the moment Draco stepped into the dining room. Lucius merely looked at his son with ardent disgust in lieu of greeting before hiding his stern expression behind a copy of the Sunday morning _Prophet._ This reaction to Draco’s presence was seeming to become a part of his father’s morning routine, which was to no complaint from Draco. At this point, the less he and his father interacted, the better.

Narcissa sat at her end of the table and Draco leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Good morning, Mother,” he stated but became immediately distracted by the array of far-too-familiar proposition letters splayed beside her plate. “Don’t you have those all memorised by now?”

“Just making sure we didn’t forget anyone,” she cooed.

Draco didn’t like the sound of that. “Forget anyone for _what?”_

From behind the newspaper, Lucius silently lifted his wand so a cream coloured scroll of parchment floated across the length of the table. It paused mid-air, and the black seal with the Malfoy family crest pressed into the wax undid itself, allowing the parchment to cascade free for Draco to read.

_The Malfoy Family_

_cordially invites you to_

_the return of their annual_

_Halloween Soirée_

Before Draco had finished reading all the details, Lucius partially lowered the newspaper so Draco could see the indifference in his expression as his deep voice filled the dining room. “Your mother thought it necessary to entertain your suggestion that we find some other way for you to initially meet with prospective witches,” Lucius drawled, his eyes still scanning the lines of the article.

“And it’s high time that we host something formal in the Manor again,” Narcissa added as she dipped her spoon into her tea, careful not to clink the metal against the china edges. “And since Halloween is only a week away, this Friday will be the perfect opportunity to mark our proper return to society.”

Narcissa avoided Draco’s gaze as she placed the wet spoon on the edge of the saucer and picked up a clean spoon to remove a wedge of her grapefruit half.

Draco watched her curiously, attempting to glean any additional hints from his mother’s expression about her true intentions for the soirée, but she revealed nothing more. The question remained -- how much did his mother know about him and Hermione? And how much freedom would she be willing to give Draco to ultimately make his own decisions? He was still unsure. Compared to his father, though, Draco supposed he should just be grateful to have his mother on his side -- to whatever extent that she was.

And then an idea struck Draco.

“That’s a fine idea, Mother,” he agreed. “Although, I will require a few invitations of my own.”

Narcissa peered up at her son, eyeing him with a glint of suspicion and warning at Draco’s condition, while Lucius continued to appear displeased (not that Draco expected his father to be pleased with anything he said anymore).

“And who precisely do you plan on inviting?” Lucius commanded.

“A couple friends,” Draco responded with a lazy wave of his hand. “Blaise… Theo… others…”

Draco looked down at his mother to once more see if she had any notable reaction, any indication that she suspected who else he meant, but she still revealed nothing.

“Just as long as Mr Nott remembers that this is a _formal_ event, so he should keep his crass comments to a minimum,” she said as she dug out another spoonful of grapefruit. “And while you’re at it, advise Mr Zabini that this gathering is for _you_. We don’t need him gallivanting around, trying to pick up witches for himself.”

With the matter settled, Draco tapped the tip of his wand to the invitation, prompting it to duplicate. He tucked the copy into his trouser’s pocket and left his mother’s side. He could make the other two necessary copies later.

As he finally took his seat in the middle of the table and started his meal, Draco began to contemplate the details of his plan. This Halloween Soirée could be the answer he had stayed awake searching for. There would likely be upwards to a hundred witches and wizards in attendance, and even his parents wouldn’t dare to spoil their precious evening reintroducing themselves into society by causing a scene at Hermione’s attendance. If Draco planned this right, he could steal just enough moments of his parents’ time to properly introduce Hermione to them. What else he would dare mention to them he would still have to determine, but at least this would be a start.

Now he just had to convince Hermione to actually attend.

~*~*~

Hermione scanned through what had to be her twelfth document of the afternoon. While Tillman had told them during their meeting on Friday that she did not need to worry about her new responsibilities at work until Monday, Hermione couldn’t wait until then. Come tomorrow morning, she wanted to be as knowledgeable as possible about everything that the Muggle Studies department had already planned for their curriculum and what was left to be done. This was a huge opportunity for Hermione to further demonstrate her ambition at the firm, and she was not going to take her new joint appointment lightly.

She was halfway through making notes on a lesson about how Muggles use technology to transport themselves when a knock at her office door disrupted her thoughts. She hadn’t heard anyone else come in that afternoon. Who else was there on a Sunday?

Hermione kept her quill poised in her hand while she hastily scribbled down a suggested change before it slipped from her mind as she called for the person to enter.

“Only a through-and-through workaholic like you would come into the office not only first thing Saturday but all of Sunday as well.”

The quill dropped from her grip at the sound of her guest. “Draco!” she said, not for a moment upset at the interruption even if it was unexpected. “What are you doing here?”

A sense of ease and lightness seemed to be radiating from him, and Hermione was relieved to see it. Friday night, he had been quite the drunken mess after his apparent struggles of earlier that day, and it was nice to see him returned to a more chipper mood. She doubted much had been resolved since then -- after all, what little she knew about his struggles with his parents didn’t sound like something that could be fixed in the matter of a short day -- but however Draco had spent his Saturday night and Sunday morning seemed to have alleviated his distress.

She motioned for him to come inside, and Draco joined her in one of the chairs opposite her desk.

“I first stopped by your flat and buzzed a button on that box mechanism outside the building’s entrance, but when you didn’t answer, I made the only logical conclusion that you were here instead,” Draco replied, his pale skin aglow from the tendrils of afternoon sun that basked through her window. A grin stretched across his lips. “Although for a brief moment, I did consider checking a Muggle library, but I knew you wouldn’t dare visit one without inviting me along.”

Hermione returned her quill to her inkwell, knowing full well she wasn’t going to get any work done while Draco was still there. Not that her mind was even thinking about work at the moment. “So every time I go to a Muggle library now, I have to make you aware of it beforehand?” she teased.

“That’s only common courtesy,” he taunted in return. “Although, despite my interest in discovering just how alarmingly often you frequent Muggle libraries, there is a purpose for my being here.”

Draco reached into his trouser’s pocket -- fleeting curiosity flashing across her mind over his choice in Muggle attire -- and he pulled out a tight scroll of parchment. Hermione took the proffered item and paused when she recognised the crest in the wax. A large script ‘M’ was prominently featured in the middle, surrounded by intertwining snakes and flanked by a dragon on either side. The words in the flags below were not legible on such a small surface, but Hermione knew they were intended to read “ _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ ” -- “Purity Will Always Conquer.”

Hermione tucked her finger under the lip of the parchment and slid it under the wax seal until the parchment opened free. She smoothed out the scroll and read what appeared to be an invitation.

“I wanted to deliver this to you in person,” he said, sensing Hermione’s hesitation as a shaky finger hovered over the location of the event. “I understand your likely concern at the prospect of returning to the Manor, but I wanted to be here to guide you through that decision.”

Hermione glanced up from the invitation to find Draco’s gentle gaze already peering down at her, but it did little to settle the nerves that had quickly spread through her system.

“This is very kind of you to invite me, but--”

“Hear me out,” Draco said before Hermione could flat-out reject the invitation. “I know I told you this weeks ago, but in case you forgot, we had the Manor completely renovated immediately following the war. I felt similar dread at the idea of being in a space that the Dark Lord once called his home.”

“But you weren’t tortured there,” Hermione mustered in a faint whisper. Her skin crawled at the memory of the jolts of unfathomable pain that had invaded every cell in her body.

Draco’s expression fell as a heavy pause began to suffocate the space. “No, I was not,” he eventually stated, his words hardly louder than Hermione’s. “Which is why I won’t push you to attend, other than to say how much it would sincerely mean to me if you did.”

She lifted her gaze, some of the tension in her shoulders dissipating. “Really?”

Draco swallowed. “Yes.” For a moment, it seemed as if he was going to reach for Hermione’s hands, but he grabbed the invitation instead. “I know we’ve only been… spending time together… the past few weeks, but it would be a great honour if you would be my personal guest at this soirée.”

Hermione blinked in rapid succession. Draco’s personal guest? That sounded suspiciously close to asking if she would be his date to the function. Flashbacks to her conversation at the Leaky Cauldron the night before in which Harry had insisted that Draco somehow _fancied_ Hermione flooded her memories. Could there really be validity in Harry’s claim? Had she really been so blind?

But Draco was not done speaking yet.

“Of course, if you’d feel more comfortable attending with a plus one, I’d be more than willing to amend your invitation.”

If Harry was there right now, Hermione would have raised an eyebrow to underscore that _she_ was right. See? Draco wasn’t inviting her as his guest like _that_. They were merely friends!

And yet, unfamiliar disappointment clenched inside her chest. No, not disappointment. Jitters. Fear? She was still anxious at the idea of stepping foot inside Malfoy Manor. That was all it was. There was absolutely no way that she had been _hoping_ that Harry was somehow right in his assessment. That would have been absurd! And besides, what did Harry know anyway? He had barely seen them interact for more than a few minutes.

No. She and Draco were just friends. Honestly.

“Hermione?”

She jolted back to attention. “A plus one?” Hermione repeated, doing her best to calm her nerves and to not sound too frazzled. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not as if I have time to be dating anyone right now. The only man in my life at the moment is you.” She hesitated for a moment, then rushed to clarify, “And Ron and Harry, of course!”

For some indiscernible reason, there was now a subtle quirk to Draco’s lips. “I never said your plus one had to be romantic,” he said. “Bring Potter or Weasley. Although, if I may, I suggest you bring Potter. I don’t have much faith in Weasley’s ability to hold his own at a formal function.”

Hermione raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “And I don’t have much faith in your and Harry’s ability to not break out into a duel in the middle of your formal ballroom!”

“Fair enough,” Draco surrendered, lifting a cavalier shoulder. “But I promise to be on my best behaviour if Potter agrees to be on his. I’ll even make an unbreakable vow with you not to touch a single strand of his unruly hair if that’s what it takes.”

Hermione continued to stare at him, waiting for the catch, but it never came. “You’re serious?”

Draco nodded. “We managed not to hex each other in your office on Friday, didn’t we?”

It was a valid point. But she still wasn’t entirely convinced. “And what about your parents? What would they think of my attendance if I’m _your_ guest? Based on what you said Friday night, there’s already enough tension between you and your father, and if it would be better that I don’t attend--”

“Hermione.”

She couldn’t quite place it, but something was different in the way he said her name that sent a tingle down to the tips of her fingers. There was an undeniable firmness, enough to prompt her to stop mid-sentence, and yet there was a hidden softness that warmed her core and compelled her to listen.

“I’m tired of constantly concerning myself with what my parents think,” he stated sternly so there was no denying his resolve on the matter. “I want you there. It’s as simple as that. Any potential fallout with my parents I will handle on my own.” He rested his elbows on the edge of her desk and leaned in, a scheming smirk spreading across his lips. “And besides, would you really pass up the opportunity to ruffle a few snooty pureblood feathers?”

The comfortable easiness she had grown accustomed to around Draco returned as she released a giggle. “I was unaware that the famous Malfoy family peacocks were also going to be in attendance.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“Then I accept,” Hermione said with a carefree grin. “But only because of the peacocks.”

Draco beamed at her. “I shall ensure that they are in their finest dress robes.”

He slid back his chair, his intended mission now complete, and he started to make his way for the door, but Hermione wasn’t ready to return to work just yet. A few more minutes with him. That was all she needed.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

Draco paused his departure to face Hermione. “Thought I might finally crack open _The Two Towers_. Unless you have other plans for me?”

He raised a hopeful eyebrow, and Hermione prayed that the heat that prickled at her cheeks wasn’t obvious on the surface. “I thought I might suggest you visit another museum since you’re already dressed in Muggle clothing. There’s so much left for you to see in the British Museum, although, if I may, the V&A is quite enjoyable as well.”

Draco took a step back towards her desk. “Depends. Can I tear you away from your office to join me?”

A pang of sorrow tugged inside of her as she looked at the stack of documents that still laid untouched. The offer was tempting. She certainly hadn’t regretted abandoning her work to spend time with him in the past. But today couldn’t be one of those days.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she resolved with a sigh. “I really ought to finish reviewing these lessons before Monday.”

“Ah, yes.” Draco smiled despite her rejection. “Big day for you tomorrow. First day with both the Literature and Muggle Studies Departments.”

Inexplicable happiness coursed through her that he had remembered. “Yes, it is.”

“In that case, I shall not distract you any longer,” he said with a note of parting finality. “Best of luck, Granger. Not that you’ll need it.”

With one last glimpse of his genuine smile, Draco closed the door behind him, but that did little to block the new thoughts about him that now rushed to the forefront of her mind.

A dimple. When Draco smiled at her, he had the distinctive crescent of a dimple in his right cheek. How had she missed it before?

A frenzy of follow up questions forced their way to the surface, but one curiosity begged to be answered first. Hermione threw open the drawers of her desk, certain she hadn’t disposed of it. She had been so distracted by the front page that Hermione hadn’t read the article Gretchen had recommended before she had to set it aside and prepare for her scheduled meeting with Weggers. She was certain she had tucked it away somewhere in her desk. Now it was just a matter of remembering _where_ she had placed it.

After a few more moments of searching, Hermione found the two week old _Daily Prophet_ article, Draco’s image still prominently featured on the front page alongside Victoria Flint. Hermione spread the paper flat against her desk and leaned in to properly examine the picture.

No dimple.

Not that it meant anything that Draco had a dimple when he smiled around her and didn’t when he was with Victoria Flint. The photographer could have just missed the moment. Or perhaps it only revealed itself on the rarest of occasions. Not that she was looking for any sort of significance in the difference between his two smiles, of course. She was merely an observant person who found pleasure in finding meaningful trends. There was no other reason. None at all.

Then why was her heart starting to beat all a flutter?

Hermione shoved the thoughts away. No. Not now. She couldn’t be questioning this when she had work to focus on.

Yes, work. Her job. And her new responsibilities that started tomorrow. _That_ was what she needed to be focusing on.

And yet, as Hermione tried to return her attention to the lesson on Muggle technology, it became instantly apparent that her mind refused to comply. It kept flickering back to thoughts of Draco and his stupid dimple.

Okay, so Draco had a nice smile. So what? That didn’t mean anything. And perhaps she could even admit that Draco was attractive. That _still_ didn’t mean anything.

But it was more than that. It was the fact that he had only left a few minutes ago and she already wished he would come back and distract her some more. That she could talk with him for hours on end and never grow tired. That every moment that she had spent with him since their evening at the Leaky Cauldron had felt like the highlight of her week.

She didn’t want to believe it. Keep denying it was possible. Fight the notion all day long. But there was no use. And while she still wasn’t convinced that Draco liked _her,_ it had become impossible for her to ignore the signs any longer. _She_ liked Draco.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I would like to take a moment to thank all of you who have been following along with this story. I know my updates are sporadic, so the fact that you continue to be patient between chapters means all the more to me!
> 
> Along those lines, I am humbled and thrilled to share that this story has made it to the finals of the Granger Enchanted Survivors Awards, so a big, massive thank you to all of you have voted. THANK YOU! There are plenty of other FANTASTIC stories and authors who are also up for awards that you ought to check out if you haven't already. If you are interested in voting or want to see the finalists, you can find a link on my tumblr (niffizzle).
> 
> On a final note of housekeeping, I have a couple shorter stories that will be popping up between now and the next SDTL update, so be on the lookout for those.
> 
> And of course, thank you to LightofEvolution for keeping me sane and making sure that this story stays on track <3

_Hermione,_

_I have no doubt that your first day in your new position will be a success. Consider this present a small trinket of my warm regards._

_I won’t bother asking if you’re free for lunch this afternoon. I know you far too well at this point to know that you’ll be working straight through the day. Besides, I predict I’ll be a bit too preoccupied reading_ The Two Towers _for me to notice your absence too much -- that is until I’m aching to discuss it with you. _

_Try not to work too late. I need you alive and well for Friday._

_DM_

 

_Dear Draco,_

_It was a hectic first day balancing between the two departments but equally exhilarating. On top of that, my day was made all the better when I received your gift. People were quite intrigued by my new snow-white peacock feather quill. Do I even want to know what you did to those poor peacocks to get this? It’s perfect._

_And it’s about time you finally started reading it! For a man who had to drag me out of my office on Thursday to take him to the library that very instant, it sure did take you long enough! Where are you in the book? Just because I’m stuck working doesn’t mean we can’t discuss over owl._

_Hermione_

 

_No, no. I’m saving my thoughts until we can properly exchange our opinions in person. You know very well that we cannot capture the fire of our conversation over paragraphs of text. It just wouldn’t feel right if I don’t have you jumping to cut me off mid-sentence to add your assessment._

_Any chance of lunch today?_

_DM_

_P.S. Let’s just say a lot of chasing around the manor’s gardens was involved._

 

_As much as I’d love to see you, I’m afraid not. I have back-to-back meetings scheduled all week long as I become fully integrated into the Muggle Studies department. You’re just going to have to keep those thoughts to yourself a few more days. But come Friday, I promise my night is all yours._

_Hermione_

 

_You best believe I’ll hold you to that. I suppose I’ll just have to find a different way to fill up my days if I don’t have your lunches to look forward to. As much as I enjoy diving into your Muggle books, I crave more than just sitting and reading all day long._

_What was that museum that you mentioned on Sunday? Perhaps I really ought to take you up on that hobby suggestion._

_DM_

 

_Yes! The V &A. It stands for the Victoria and Albert Museum. I’ve attached another map to help you navigate there from the Leaky Cauldron. Oh, I’m so tempted to join you, but I’m simply too busy to steal even a half hour away from here. But you must go to their Cast Courts room! It’s filled with copies of some of the most famous Muggle sculptures in the world. It takes my breath away every time!_

_Hermione_

 

_Per your recommendation, I went to the V &A yesterday. The sculptures were quite impressive, although I fear some of their significance felt lacking when I didn’t have a certain witch standing by my side, rambling on about their historical value. _

_Any update on Potter also being in attendance tomorrow night? I require at least twenty four hours notice that I’ll be in his presence._

_DM_

 

_I suppose that means I’ll just have to drag you back there so we can do the museum properly. And, oh! In my constant rush of the week, I forgot to tell you. Yes, Harry has agreed to come. Ron’s a bit miffed that I chose Harry over him, but I think he’ll get over it if I bring him back a plate of hor d'oeuvres._

_Relatedly, I’ve been so preoccupied with work, I haven’t had a moment to consider what I should wear to something like this. Believe it or not, I haven’t been invited to many formal soirées. I’d hate to wear something entirely inappropriate and draw even more attention to me than I predict there already will be._

_Hermione_

 

_Think of it like the Yule Ball. Formal and elegant. But I’m afraid there’s nothing neither you nor I can do to prevent you from drawing attention. If memory serves me right, which I know it does, you were utterly captivating that evening back in fourth year. Regardless of what you ultimately choose to wear, I have no doubt that you’ll once again steal the attention away from every other witch in the room._

_Draco_

 

Hermione bit her lower lip, reading over Draco’s most recent note for what had to be the tenth time since it had arrived Thursday evening. Every time in the past week that she had spotted his massive great horned owl pecking at her window, Hermione had immediately dropped her new quill and rushed to push the window open. Her heart had consistently hammered in girlish anticipation as she undid the scroll and read his now instantly recognisable script. Each short missive had temporarily drawn her away from the constant chaos of work, a reminder that she had a life outside of these four walls.

But with that came the other reminder of what she had finally come to realise Sunday afternoon.

While she truly had been busy with work all week, she was admittedly more than a tad nervous to see Draco again. How would things be different now that she realised that their friendship meant more to her than just that? Did Draco really feel the same?

She had spent more time than she cared to admit over-analysing every word in his letters. But indications that he possibly felt like-wise were present in nearly every note. He ached to discuss the book with her. He missed their lunchtime ritual. He felt her absence at the V&A.

But this latest note had sent a flush to her cheeks like none of the others had. 

 _Captivating_.

The word stood out like a glimmering star in an otherwise pitch-black sky. Even in the midst of their antagonism towards each other, Draco Malfoy had found her _captivating_.

There was a knock on her office door and Hermione slipped Draco’s note under the parchments she should have been focusing on as Gretchen let herself in.

“Do you need anything else before I leave for the weekend?” Gretchen asked, barely stepping foot inside.

Hermione scanned the final few documents that were laid out on her desk. “Nothing I can think of,” she said. “I won’t be staying much later anyway.”

“That’s good. You deserve a break,” Gretchen returned with a smile, somehow having maintained her constantly cheery attitude despite the countless hours she too had stayed at the office this week. “Any plans for Halloween weekend?”

Hermione made sure to keep her gaze down at her parchment as she responded, “Not much. I have an event tonight, but that’s it.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be attending the Halloween soirée at Malfoy Manor, would you?”

Hermione’s head jerked up. “What?”

A grin now stretched wide across Gretchen’s features. “I overheard a couple of witches talking about it as they exited Madam Malkin’s earlier today.” Her gaze then fell to Hermione’s peacock feather quill resting in her inkwell. “And I had a feeling they weren’t the only witches invited.”

The rustling of parchments filled the empty silence as Hermione shuffled them around while she quickly considered her response. “If you must know, then yes, that is where I will be tonight,” she eventually settled, fighting hard to sound casual as she said it. “And before you ask, Harry and I are going together, so no, there is no date involved. Draco and I are still just friends.”

Mild discontent weighed inside her stomach at the voicing of that sentiment, a fact she wasn’t confident had gone unnoticed. But even if Hermione’s feelings towards Draco had changed, the statement was true.

Hermione drew in a deep breath, only partially appeasing some of the nerves that had started to spread inside of her. “Now, is there anything else?”

Gretchen paused, seeming to consider her response for several moments before she ultimately shook her head.

“Alright then,” Hermione concluded. “In that case, I hope you have a lovely weekend, Gretchen.”

Hermione returned her attention to the parchments below her, but when she didn’t hear Gretchen leave, she lifted her head back up to find her assistant still standing in the doorframe.

“Just… If I may, ma’am?” she asked, hesitation in her voice. Her expression was soft as she gave Hermione a comforting grin. “Regardless of whatever you and Mr Malfoy are, it’s evident that spending time with him makes you happy. And with things so stressful around here lately, I’m glad you have someone who makes you feel that way.”

Without waiting for Hermione’s response, Gretchen clicked the door closed behind her, leaving Hermione staring at the wooden grains.

“Me too,” Hermione surrendered with a half-hearted sigh.

It was sincerely shocking how fond she had grown towards the wizard in the three short weeks since she had attended his book signing. Even if nothing more ever resulted between her and Draco, she was still glad to have him in her life. Gretchen was right; being with him made her happy.

Yet that didn’t change the fact that the more she thought about it, the less she liked the idea of maintaining their relationship under the present circumstances.

She dug back under the parchment and reread Draco’s note for the eleventh time.

_Regardless of what you ultimately choose to wear, I have no doubt that you’ll once again steal the attention away from every other witch in the room._

The warmth of his words began to melt away her concerns. Perhaps Draco liked her, perhaps he didn’t. And perhaps he just needed something to help him come to the same realisation she had.

The six o’clock gongs of the bell echoed in the far off distance, and with a flick of her wand, Hermione cleared her desk of all reports, lesson plans, and other documents. Work could wait. It was the weekend, and she had a soirée to get ready for.

~*~*~

“Mother, Father, you remember Hermione Granger.”

Draco stared at his reflection in the mirror, once again rehearsing one of the lines he had prepared for the evening. Even after uttering countless variations of those words, his fingers still twitched in nervous anticipation. But there was no use spending any more time attempting to predict and plan for his parents’ potential reactions. The night was here.

He took a deep swallow as he adjusted the high collar of his dress robes and mentally reviewed the plan. Enter the ballroom. Greet the necessary people. Down two flutes of champagne. Find Hermione. Talk with Hermione. Wait for his parents’ inevitable shock. Pray to whatever deity was out there for the best.

Simple enough, right?

The repeated drumming of his fingers against the vanity echoed in his dressing chambers. His parents would soon be expecting his presence. Guests had already been arriving for the better part of an hour, but in proper Malfoy fashion, his mother had advised that he wait sufficient time before he personally appeared. Better to build the anticipation or something. And Draco hadn’t protested. The less time he had to be there without Hermione, the better.

His heart lifted at the thought that he’d soon be seeing her again. It had been an excruciating week without her. Exchanging owls simply wasn’t the same.

Thoughts about the book and the museum that he longed to properly discuss with her flooded his mind. As soon as he had appeased his parents’ expectations of making his polite greetings, he’d be free to find Hermione and ramble with her about them on end. With enough luck, his parents would witness just how happy their conversations sincerely made him.

After fixing his collar one last time, Draco left his dressing chambers and proceeded down the curved staircase to the ground floor, joining the handful of other witches and wizards also making their way to the soirée. Distant chatting mingled with the dulcet tones of stringed instruments became clearer as Draco approached the entry to the ballroom, the doors open for guests to freely enter.

If his mother and father had been nervous about whether or not people would attend due to their still questionable social status, they needn’t have worried. At least a few hundred witches and wizards were already in the room with more continuing to enter. Draco wondered how many people had opted to attend out of genuine care and desire and how many were merely curious to be in the presence of the controversial Malfoy family. But just like with his author talk at Flourish and Blotts, it hardly mattered why the people had ultimately decided to come. It once again proved that the Malfoy name was, and forever would be, highly regarded and revered.

But in the sea of purebloods and Half-bloods, Draco sought out one sole witch.

He knew it wasn’t time to talk with her yet; he still had to do his hostly duties. But one glimpse of her -- enough to appease his yearnful heart and tantalize his thoughts -- would be sufficient for now.

Weaving his way through the guests, Draco scanned the crowd for her distinctive curls. A few paces away, his mother was the perfect picture of a hostess, all smiles as she fluttered from guest to guest to welcome them into her home. On the far other side of the room stood Blaise and Theo, the former already chatting up some witch while Theo was undoubtedly inserting snarky remarks at Blaise’s expense. Catching Draco’s gaze, they gave him a brief nod in greeting before returning to their conversation.

All expected parties were accounted for except for Hermione and —

“Ah, Draco. I was just talking about you.”

His father.

Draco turned to find Lucius standing next to Llewelyn Avery and, _surprise, surprise_ , his eldest daughter, Lianne.

Despite the predictableness of this sort of introduction happening that evening, the bottom of Draco’s stomach still plunged to the floor at the remembrance of his parents’ intentions for the soirée. More than ever, he had no desire to meet with any of these witches. But that wasn’t an option tonight. He needed to remain on his father’s good side as much as possible; he couldn’t afford to lose sight of his own endgame.

Slipping on his mask for proper pureblood society, Draco greeted Avery with a firm handshake and then leaned in to give Lianne a polite kiss on the hand.

They exchange pleasantries before Lucius and Avery took control of the conversation, an action Draco was all too agreeable to letting happen. He made sure to speak when appropriate, yet whenever possible, Draco surveyed the crowd, still hoping to catch sight of Hermione.

After several minutes of lacklustre conversation and no sign of the witch he craved to see, discontent began to sink in. A serverless tray floated past them, and Draco picked up a champagne flute. It was time for step three, down two flutes of champagne, to commence a bit early.

And if he was stuck waiting for Hermione to show, he might as well entertain his father’s desires and at least pretend to consider these other witches. It wasn’t like it would take all night.

~*~*~

Her feet landing on solid ground, Hermione smoothed out the skirt of her outfit as Harry attempted to flatten the few strands of jet black hair that never cooperated even on the best of days. They were later than she would have preferred, but Harry had been delayed finishing some paperwork for an Auror report, and she refused to arrive without his support.

Taking a harsh swallow, she lifted her gaze and braved the sight before her. It had been three and a half years since she had stood in that very same spot but under severely different circumstances.

Draco had assured her that the interior of the manor had been renovated, yet that did nothing to change the structure itself. The same looming peaks of the turrets that had cast long, ominous shadows across the front gardens upon their forced arrival. The same high hedges that had lined the driveway that they had been dragged down towards what they feared would be their end. The same gates that were now the only barrier between her and the home in which she had been tortured.

Hermione fiddled with the lace sleeve that presently covered the scar. Most days it hardly bothered her anymore, the worst of it masked by a Concealing Charm. But tonight it itched and burned at the memory of the pain.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Hermione shifted to see Harry looking at her, his eyes soft but filled with concern.

She drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Yes,” she said, returning her vision to the dim glow of the candlelight that illuminated the manor’s windows. “It’s just… odd being back here.”

“‘Doesn’t exactly feel great to be here myself,” he confessed, fleeting vulnerability in his tone. It faded when he bumped her side with his elbow. “But hey, at least we’re coming voluntarily this time, right?”

Hermione snickered. “A very valid point.” Her apprehensions slightly appeased, she turned to give Harry a soft smile. “Thanks again for coming with me.”

His lips curled into a grin. “You helped me with the war, I agreed to go to a stupid soirée at Malfoy Manor. I can now consider us even.”

A full-hearted laugh filled the space around them, the rest of Hermione’s apprehensions falling forgotten. “Deal. Although, you and I both know you’re really only here so you can try to prove me wrong about Draco.”

“The man went out of his way to personally deliver your invitation!” Harry cried. “C’mon, Hermione! I know you’re all about logic and stuff, but can you really not see how obvious it is? He wants you here so bad, he’s even willing to put up with me for an evening.”

“Or maybe he just wants to extend an olive branch to you as well,” she offered as another potential explanation, not allowing herself to merely take Harry’s word for it.

“Sure, and the Dursleys are inviting me to tea next weekend to catch up.” Harry snorted. “I’m telling you, Hermione. Malfoy likes you. And if for whatever reason he doesn’t already, he will after he sees how you look tonight.”

Hermione gnawed the inside of her lip and hoped her blush wasn’t too apparent in the darkening night sky. That was what she was secretly hoping would be the case. She didn’t dress up often, not usually finding it worth the time and effort required, but after receiving Draco’s most recent letter, Hermione had dug into the back of her wardrobe to find the bridesmaid dress from her cousin’s wedding last January. 

With a few spells, she made the necessary modifications so that the dress better resembled robes. The flowy maroon fabric danced just above the ground and was cinched around her waist to accentuate her gentle curves. From the front it was modest, lace adorning the bodice and then extending down the length of her arms, but she hoped the open back wasn’t too much for a formal soirée.

Her stomach fluttered as she looked back at the now famous gilded gates, remembering what, or more specifically _who_ , awaited her inside. A demure smile tugged at her lips. She wanted to believe Harry, but she had never been one to accept matters as fact because someone else told her it was so. She needed to see it, to feel it, for herself.

And hopefully tonight would be that night. 

She looped her arm through Harry’s. “Let’s go inside. I’m starving.”

***

Hermione kept a tight grip on Harry’s arm as they navigated through the corridors of Malfoy Manor, her heart hammering more than she’d care to admit. Nerves. Jitters. All around anticipation. And as much as she wanted to claim that it was because of her setting, she knew she couldn’t lie to herself about the true cause.

Entering the ballroom, they navigated their way through the sea of witches and wizards. Hermione recognised plenty of faces from when she used to work at the Ministry but hardly any that she knew by name. She greeted them with passing nods and polite smiles, all the while keeping her eyes open for one wizard in particular. But for each person that seemed surprised and delighted to see her and Harry, there was an equal number of frowns and glares.

“I don’t think everyone is pleased to see us here,” she whispered to Harry with a short laugh.

Harry chuckled. “I expected as much.” He craned his neck to survey the crowd. “Is that Cornelia Yaxley? I remember personally bringing her husband to Azkaban. Think I should go over and say hi?”

Breaking through to the other side of the crowd, they settled around an empty table in a distant corner of the room. Hermione filled her plate with various hor d'oeuvres from the floating serving trays, yet the food remained mostly untouched despite the fact that she had only had a small dinner earlier that evening. Her stomach was too uneasy.

Instead she mindlessly sipped champagne as she and Harry kept to themselves and chatted about their weeks. His work was busy and things were still good with him and Ginny, but any details beyond that, Hermione wasn’t confident she would be able to accurately recite back. While she did her best to listen to her old friend, every few minutes, she would become distracted, searching the crowd for any sign of pale blond locks.

“So, you want to talk about it?”

Hermione jerked her head and blinked to refocus her attention on Harry. “Hmm?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “The fact that you’ve spent the entire evening so far looking for Malfoy?”

Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t intended to be that obvious!

There was little Hermione could do to hide her resulting blush, but she carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “I just think that it’s a bit rude is all,” she said with a seemingly dismissive breeze. “If you personally invite someone to your event, the least you can do is stop by and thank them for coming.”

And then, finally, no more than a few paces away, she spotted him. Her heart lifted. In his jet black dress robes, he was the perfect picture of a wealthy gentleman, but she cared more about the wizard underneath the clothes.

As in who he was as a person! Not what he physically looked like without --

Her frantic thought was interrupted when she noticed who Draco was with. Beside him was his father, a man Hermione wasn’t keen on seeing again. The years since the war seemed to have been kind to Lucius Malfoy, the constant stress of war no longer etched across his features. He much more resembled the younger version of himself that she had once run into a Flourish and Blotts the summer before her second year. Smug. Proud. Oozing self-assuredness. It was unsettling.

But what disturbed her more was what she witnessed next. Draco bent over and kiss the hand of some young witch she vaguely remembered to be a Ravenclaw named Helena Fawley. The weight of Hermione’s stomach plummeted to her feet. Draco hadn’t approached her yet because he was busy talking with other witches.

Disappointment intertwined with jealousy coursed through her veins. Memories of the torment of watching Ron with Lavender invaded her thoughts and then the more recent incident of Draco’s tea with Victoria Flint. Merlin, how long had she been fooling herself into thinking that she only liked Draco as a friend? 

“Hermione? You okay?”

Harry followed Hermione’s gaze and then looked back at her.

“Fine,” she lied. “I guess Draco’s just busy at the moment.”

The wavering in her voice was obvious and there was no chance Harry had missed it.

She peered down at her champagne flute to avoid Harry’s concerned gaze. “Oh, look, we’re nearly out,” she remarked even though her glass was barely less than half empty. “I’ll go get us a refill.”

Before Harry could protest, she slipped into the crowd, heading the opposite direction from where Draco stood.

~*~*~

Draco was growing irritated. For the greater part of an hour, he had been trying to slip away from these seemingly never-ending introductions, but each time Draco had tried to leave, his father had pulled him back. Even worse, Draco had yet to spot Hermione. The only reason he had agreed to this evening in the first place was because of the benefit he hoped it would provide when it came to his parents and Hermione. But things weren’t going as planned.

So far he was stuck on the “greet the necessary people” part of his plan. Although, if it was any consolation, he had more than completed the “down two flutes of champagne” step. _Something_ had to help him get through these indistinguishable and tiresome conversations.

“I must thank you again for inviting us,” Fabian Fawley said to Lucius, admiring their surroundings. “You have a truly beautiful home. Although, if I may, I’m quite surprised by some of your choices in guests.”

Lucius raised a subtle eyebrow, a tightness in his jaw. “Oh?”

“I don’t think my father means any offence!” Helena Fawley rushed to explain. “Merely, with your family’s… history… and such, we simply didn’t expect Harry Potter to be here.”

Draco perked up, suddenly much more interested in the conversation. He whipped his head in the direction Helena Fawley was looking, expecting to finally catch a glimpse of Hermione by Potter’s side, but to his utter disappointment, the wizard was alone.

But it confirmed that Hermione was here. Somewhere. He just needed to find her. And he was tired of waiting.

Draco opened his lips to excuse himself but was interrupted when his father’s hand clenched around his wrist. He tried to jerk himself free, but the grip only tightened.

Lucius kept his gaze on the Fawleys, a fake smile stretched across his lips. “What better way to underscore how far the Malfoy family has truly come than to have the war hero himself in attendance,” he easily explained while his fingernails began to dig into Draco’s skin.

Draco inhaled a sharp breath through his nose at the pain but maintained his outward composure.

“Forgive me, but as I said, I was simply surprised,” Fawley commented. “I was unaware that your family’s beliefs had shifted so significantly since the end of the war.”

Draco could tell that it was growing harder for Lucius to maintain his unperturbed facade. “Just like after the first war, it’s all about adaptation. We must learn how to fit in again and proceed with our lives.” He gave them a grin that did not reach his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, there are many more guests that Draco and I must welcome.”

They exchanged goodbyes, but even after they were complete, Draco’s wrist was still locked in his father’s grasp.

“Follow me,” Lucius growled.

Making sure not to cause a scene, Lucius led Draco into one of the side rooms and placed a Silencing Charm on the door.

“I give you invitations and you dare invite _Harry Potter?_ ” Lucius snarled, his words low and sharp as he glared at his son. “Tell me, do you find joy in making a mockery of our family?”

“A mockery?” Draco huffed at the irony. “If it wasn’t for my book, half these people still wouldn’t be speaking to us!”

“There are certain families that matter more than others, and they do not need reminding of the role our family played in the ending of the war!” Lucius hissed. “And yet you are flaunting it in their faces by inviting _him_.”

Draco scoffed, having had enough of entertaining his father’s resentment. He had tried to appease his wishes all night, and it had gotten Draco nowhere. His patience had run dry.

“Technically, I didn’t invite him. I invited Her—”

“I don’t care about your technicalities,” Lucius dismissed before Draco could get it out. “You are the one responsible for his presence, yes?”

“Yes, because he came here with—”

“I submit to your request and you pay me back by pulling a stunt like this?”

Draco seethed. “This soirée was mother’s idea, _not_ yours, so don’t act as if this is something you graciously planned for me! You haven’t listened to a single request of mine!”

“I have listened but opted to ignore,” Lucius countered. “And since when have you decided that Harry Potter is someone worthy of being in our home?”

“Since the last time he was here and I had to stare him in the eyes and make the decision on whether or not to lie about recognising him.”

Draco’s confession echoed in the room as a cruel snarl twitched across Lucius’s lips. “So you did know.”

“Of course I did,” Draco said with a scoff. He eyed his father up and down with an air of disdain. “And for the first time in my life, I made my own decision and opted not to be responsible for my classmates’ deaths, even if you did believe it would make you look so much better in the Dark Lord’s eyes.”

Draco started to exit, but Lucius once more grabbed ahold of him.

“Do you even care about this family?”

Draco tugged himself free. “Every day, a little less.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you all on that cliffhanger after the last chapter! Let's resolve that, shall we?
> 
> Before we begin, though, two more things of note. First and foremost, if you haven't seen it already, I'm in the middle of posting a ridiculously absurd crack-fic with the insanely talented and wonderful human beings BoredRavenvlaw620, HeartofAspen, In Dreams, Kyonomiko, LightofEvolution, and sarena. It's been such a joy and an honor to work with these writers and fellow nerds, so check that out if you're in need of a laugh. Also, I'll be posting the first chapter of a new mini-fic on Thursday, so if you're interested in even *more* stories, be on the lookout for that.
> 
> As always, thanks to LightofEvolution and to all of you reading and reviewing. Without further ado, let's do this.

Draco stormed out of the side room, his blood boiling. He had had more than enough of his father. But the night was still salvageable.

He scanned the crowd and spotted Blaise and Theo.

"How's it going?" Theo asked as Draco approached them, but when he responded to the question with a menacing glare, Theo retreated. "Apparently, I shouldn't have asked! What happened?"

Draco wasn't in the mood to rehash the night's disastrous events - not when he had a mission he still intended to complete. He peered back out at the masses of witches and wizards that surrounded them. "Have you seen Hermione? I need to introduce her to my mother before this night is completely ruined."

A smirk tugged at the edges of Blaise's lips. "Oh, we've seen her alright."

His old friends chuckled to one another, prompting Draco to pause his search. "And?"

Blaise winked. "Let's just say you're in for a treat."

Draco was about to ask when and where they had last spotted her, when Theo motioned his chin in the direction behind Draco's shoulder.

"Looks like you're in luck, mate. Here she is now."

Draco spun around, and the whole world seemed to freeze except for the witch walking past him just a few feet away. She was an absolute vision, more than he ever could have dreamed. If she had been captivating at the Yule Ball, there were no words to describe the way she looked tonight.

Stunning. Enchanting. Breathtaking. Nothing sufficed.

The typically untamable mass of curls that he had come to appreciate had been relaxed, the front strands twisted and gathered in an elegant clip. The rest of the ringlets cascaded down the bare skin of her back. What appeared to be dress robes were like none he had ever seen before, lace lining the length of her arms and the maroon fabric hugging her waist in just the right spot. As she moved, the fabric flowed with her, painting a portrait of perfection.

After a whole week without her and the recent argument with his father, Draco would have been satisfied with seeing her in Muggle jeans and a jumper. But this...

Simply put, he was overwhelmed by her in the best way possible.

"Blimey," Theo said, snapping Draco out of his reverie. "I take back any questions I had after last week. You're not smitten; you're completely head over heels."

Draco visually followed Hermione back to the same table he had seen Potter at earlier, the witch handing a full champagne flute to her companion before taking a sip from hers.

He blinked and forced himself back to his present company. "I already told you I like her. What more do you want me to admit?"

Theo whistled in amusement and clapped a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I've known you my entire life, and you've never looked at anyone the way you're looking at her now." He raised a challenging eyebrow. "Clearly this is more than a simple fancy if you're willing to risk this much with your parents."

"Call it whatever you want," Draco dismissed, finding it difficult to deny Theo's claim. "What I care more about is whether or not you two are going to help me."

Blaise and Theo affirmed their support.

"Good," Draco solidified with a nod. "Then this is what we're going to do. Blaise, you find my father and keep him busy. The last thing I need is more interference from him. Theo, you go over to Hermione and make sure she stays there, and I'll bring my mother over. It may be best to first introduce her when we have you as a buffer, and after a few minutes, find a reason to bow out if it seems to be going well. But get Potter out of there. He'll just complicate things further."

With their plan established, the men went their separate ways, but Draco lingered for a few more moments, unable to tear himself away from Hermione's radiance just yet. He needed to find his mother, his last hope for an ally in this ever-growing mess. But that could wait ten more seconds, right?

He sensed someone approach him.

"She looks very pretty tonight."

Draco startled at the sound of the witch's voice. "Astoria! I wasn't expecting you to be in attendance."

Astoria lightly snickered. "It appears our fathers would still like for us to consider one another." She paused and looked back in the direction she had caught Draco staring. "So Hermione Granger is the witch who has captured your heart," she said with a taunting grin. "You really went as extreme as you possibly could when challenging your parents' wishes."

Draco huffed, threading his fingers through his hair. "Trust me. This wasn't what I ever intended to happen."

"The beloved war heroine with the repentant Death Eater," Astoria continued with her observation, an amused ring in her tone. "That's quite the romantic tale."

"Only if I can convince my parents not to sign me off to one of these so-called  _acceptable_  witches first."

Astoria lifted an eyebrow. "They can't without your signature on the contract as well."

Draco knew that much was true. It was likely the sole factor preventing his father from choosing a witch for him and considering the matter dealt with. But Draco still had final say. The problem was that he couldn't delay the process much longer without giving his parents a reason why. And that reason was presently standing less than twenty feet away from him.

"Who's that talking with her right now?" Astoria queried.

"Not sure if you've ever heard of him before," Draco said, a grin finding its way across his lips, "but that wizard with the terrible hair and unsightly scar on his forehead is named Harry Potter."

Astoria nudged him in the side as her laughter rang in his ears. "Not him, you lovesick fool! The other wizard!"

"Ah, my mistake." Draco chuckled, relieved to have found something to lessen the tension in his shoulders. "The other one is Theo Nott. I felt inspired to reconnect with some old friends after our meeting last Friday."

Astoria lit up. "Theo Nott," she said, testing out his name on her own lips. "I don't remember him from school."

Draco shrugged. "He kept more to himself our later years once the war started picking up. But he's a great bloke."

"Must be if he's helping you out in this." A small smirk appeared on her lips. "Not bad looking either."

Astoria canted her head up towards Draco and the wizard grinned.

"I happen to know he's not seeing anyone at the moment."

Astoria grazed her bottom lip with her teeth. "Good to know. Perhaps I'll have to find him later this evening."

Draco peered back at the sight of Hermione talking with Theo and watched as Potter left the table. The plan was in motion and he still hadn't found his mother.

"Astoria, it's been great seeing you again, but I-"

"Need to go get your witch?"

Draco chuckled. "Exactly."

She lifted herself on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "Best of luck, Draco. I really hope it works out for you."

And with that, Draco left to locate his mother.

~*~*~

"Look who we have here! The big surprise guests of the evening."

Hermione set down her champagne glass, surveying the wizard who had interrupted her and Harry's conversation.

"Theodore Nott. Can we help you with something?"

The man merely grinned. "Quite a mouthful saying both first and last names, don't you think? Call me Theo and I'll call you Hermione. Draco uses your given name now, so we might as well follow suit." He then turned to Harry. "Though, you're still Potter."

Harry groaned. "You won't hear me complaining."

"See?" Theo said, his grin growing wider. "Feels better already. But now that that's settled, how about you do us a favour, Potter, and take a walk? I'd like a few moments with Hermione alone."

Harry opened his lips to protest, but Hermione assembled her words first. "Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Harry."

She brusquely folded her arms across her chest, but Theo didn't look the least bit swayed. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow.

"No need to be so defensive. I just thought it would be nice if you and I had a chat. You know, as two of Draco's closest…  _friends_."

Theo's eyebrow rose higher, inching closer to his hairline as the three former classmates stood around the table in momentary silence. Harry awaited Hermione's response while she was stuck processing.

Was that her imagination or did Theo purposefully draw out the word 'friends?' At the very least, it appeased her concern that Draco wasn't in contact with any of his old housemates. And she'd much rather be speaking with Theo than Goyle. Or worse, Pansy. Compared to her other options, Theo wasn't bad. But he was still a Slytherin, and Slytherins usually had a motive.

Curiosity winning her over, Hermione submitted. "You have five minutes."

"Ten."

"Seven."

"Deal."

After Hermione assured Harry that she could manage a few minutes without him, he slipped elsewhere in the crowd, leaving them alone as Theo had requested.

"So what is this about?" She wasn't in the mood for wasting their time with mindless small talk.

Theo set his glass on the table and chuckled. "Can't a bloke want to get to know the witch his mate has spent so much time with recently?"

The familiar heat of her cheeks returned. Draco had told him about them - enough that Theo was interested in speaking with her. And yet, despite Draco inviting her as his 'personal guest,' she still hadn't spoken with  _him_ that evening.

"In that case, shouldn't Draco be here with us as well?" she said with a huff. "Or is he too busy with other witches to bother?"

The bitter words slipped out of her lips before she could stop them, much to Theo's apparent amusement. Delighted intrigue stretched across his features. "Jealous he hasn't come over to you yet?"

"Of course not!" Hermione responded perhaps too eagerly, even if it was admittedly true. She scrambled to reclaim her sense of indifference. "I'm just… surprised to learn that the  _Daily Prophet_  was right for once."

"Ah, yes," he said, though he didn't sound even partially convinced. "What did that article say again? Something about one of the Wizarding World's most eligible bachelors being out on the prowl? I recall Blaise being quite offended that he wasn't the one called that by them." Theo snorted then waved a dismissive hand in the air. "But I wouldn't worry yourself too much about it. Knowing what I know, that whole thing was likely some big publicity stunt orchestrated by Draco's mother."

A vague memory of Draco assuring her that the tea between him and Victoria Flint had been his mother's concoction pushed itself to the forefront of Hermione's memory.

Her forehead wrinkled, her curiosity once again sparked. "And what exactly  _is_  it that you know?"

Theo lifted a cavalier shoulder as a small smile graced his lips. "Let's just say Draco's not entirely sold on his parents' insistence of him signing one of those pureblood marriage contracts and is more interested in keeping his options… open."

"What?"

A marriage contract? Draco had never said anything about a marriage contract. In all their time spent together, why hadn't he at least  _mentioned_  it?

And then her attention fixated on the second part of Theo's statement.

_Keeping his options open._

Her heart hammered in her chest, working through every possible meaning of Theo's words. Surely he just meant that Draco didn't want to commit to anyone when they were still so young. There was absolutely nothing for her to read into. She was overthinking this.

But right as she was about to move past it, Theo winked and took a long, slow sip from his champagne, his amused grin still fully apparent through the clear glass.

And just like that, the past three weeks with Draco flashed before her.

His excuses to keep up their luncheons.

His waiting for two hours to apologise for ditching her.

His unannounced appearances at her office.

His honesty about their past.

His willingness to explore Muggle things.

His dimpled smile when they were together.

His drunk admission that he liked her.

His drunk admission that he  _liked_  her.

Gretchen had teased. Harry had insisted. And now Theo was all but confirming.

How had she doubted it for even a second?

Her mind was swirling, trying to comprehend everything all at once.

Draco. And her. But his parents. And a marriage contract.

Then something else hit her.

What if it hadn't been his author career that he and his parents had been fighting about last Friday?

"Oh my god."

She needed a quiet place to think.

Without so much of an explanation, Hermione turned on her heels and started making her way out of the ballroom.

"Wait!" Theo called after her. "Where are you- But you still owe me at least five more minutes!"

She could hear him trying to chase her, but she managed to lose him in the crowd of guests. Before he could find her again, Hermione was gone.

~*~*~

Draco exhaled a long, impatient huff, his toes nervously dancing inside his shoes. His mother had assured him that she only needed a moment to wrap up her conversation with Beatrice Burke, but that had been several minutes ago. His patience wouldn't last much longer.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and Draco spun around to discover Theo.  _Alone_.

"Where's-"

"We have a problem."

Draco's nose twitched. "What happened?" he growled. His father better not have managed to muck this up further during the time that he had been stuck waiting!

"I may or may not have gone off script."

"There was no script," Draco fumed, not liking where this seemed to be going.

Theo cautiously carded his fingers through his hair. "Alright, so I improvised, and…"

" _And?_ "

"And now she's gone."

All of Draco's frustrations channelled into his piercing glare. "You had  _one_  job!" He scowled at his friend as his fingernails dug into his palms.

"Yeah, well, I thought I was helping!" Theo defended, but it did nothing to squash Draco's increasing irritation.

"Do you at least know where she went?"

"Haven't the slightest," he resigned. "Lost her in the crowd and now she isn't anywhere in here."

 _Great_. As if this evening needed to get any more complicated.

Draco peered back at Narcissa, still engrossed in conversation with Beatrice Burke, and then returned his attention to Theo. "Keep an eye on my mother," he hissed, his menacing glare not wavering in the slightest. "Think you can manage to keep  _her_ in this room?"

Not bothering to wait for Theo's response, Draco stormed past him and made his way to exit the ballroom. If he had any luck, Hermione was still somewhere on the manor grounds.

 _The night is still salvageable,_ he repeated to himself, but it was seeming less and less likely.

At the front of the ballroom, Draco craned his neck over the crowd, and for the first time in his life, he was relieved to see Potter. He was still here, making it all the more likely that Hermione was too. Draco just needed to find her - wherever she had disappeared to.

But there was no one in the front entry. Or in any of the first floor corridors. Not even in the gardens. He hoped for success in the kitchens, only to learn that all the house elves were accounted for and none of them had been lectured about their rights.

Growing desperate, Draco unlocked his greatest fear, daring to look inside the drawing room for the first time since the end of the war. The dark purple walls had been painted burgundy and the shattered chandelier had been replaced with a new one, yet that did nothing to prevent the icy shiver that travelled down his spine at the memories of what had occurred in that room. The horrors. The chaos. The screams.  _Her_  screams. But the room was eerily silent now. Hermione wasn't there either.

That momentary wave of relief didn't last long. He was running out of places to look, and he still hadn't spotted her or those maroon dress robes anywhere.

Draco was losing hope. Did she really leave before he had the chance to speak with her? Had she been in such a rush that she hadn't taken Potter with her? And what in the name of Merlin had Theo said that had her scrambling to leave?

But he knew Hermione. Or at least, he liked to believe he did. And something told him that she was still here.

Suddenly, it became obvious where she was. Why was that not the first place he had looked? Draco ran up the stairs to the third floor and yanked the doors open.

"When in doubt, search for Hermione Granger in the library."

From her seated position on the floor in front of a bookshelf, the witch turned around, sending his heart aglow.

There she was, just as exquisite as when he had previously seen her that evening. Only now, there was no one standing between them.

"Hi," Draco said, all concerns he had leading up to this moment no longer relevant.

Hermione got to her feet, gnawing at the inside of her lip as a slight smile graced her lips. "Hi."

"And how is it that you found our library?" Draco paced towards her, his heart warming with each step closer. "Wait. Let me guess," he taunted. "You've somehow developed the ability to sniff out libraries wherever you are?"

Hermione suppressed a snicker. "I asked one of your house elves and they guided me."

"Ah. And is this now the part where I have to endure Hermione Granger  _spewing_  out reasons why it's so wrong that my family still has house elves?"

"I considered it, but I think I'll spare you from that speech. For the night at least." She raised an eyebrow. "Was that word choice purposeful?"

Draco grinned, glad his subtle tease hadn't gone unnoticed. "Of course."

She rolled her eyes. "That's seriously the best you could do?"

"Didn't exactly have much time to prepare," Draco playfully retorted. "At least I still made you smile."

But as soon as he said it, her smile flickered from sight.

Draco's heart plummeted. That was the opposite of what he had intended to happen. "I'm really glad you're here," he rushed to assure her, but whatever was bothering her had already taken over.

Hermione shifted her gaze away from him, her mind apparently going elsewhere.

"Hermione, what-"

"There's not a single Muggleborn writer in here, is there?"

The ease and lightness of their conversation were swiftly stolen with just one question. He should have anticipated that something pertaining to that strained portion of their past would somehow come up that evening. Had something Theo said accidentally reminded her? While she had only been in the Manor once before, the circumstances had been the farthest from ideal. It was only natural that those memories would find a way to cloud her thoughts.

Hermione played with the lace of her sleeve, her focus still avoiding Draco. She didn't have to say a word for him to know the horrors that were presently replaying in her mind.

He stepped closer, eliminating the space that had been left between them. He delicately removed her hand from her sleeve and rolled up the lace, exposing the mangled writing etched into her forearm. His gut twisted upon the sight of what his aunt had done, the faint scarring of the wretched word still legible.

"A thousand apologies will never be enough," Draco said, his soft words barely loud enough for her to hear. "But I need you to know that I don't believe in any of that anymore."

Hermione swallowed. "I know, Draco." She brushed his hand aside and returned the sleeve back down to her wrist. "But what about your mother? Or even your father?" Her tone turned unexpectedly sharp. "How do they affect things?"

Revulsion bubbled in Draco's stomach. "I am not bound to my parents' opinions."

"It didn't sound that way last Friday."

Memory of his drunken escapade from the weekend prior and the careful way he had skirted around what had prompted his distress came rushing back. The topic needed to change.  _Quick_. Before the real reason was revealed. He wasn't ready for Hermione to know the truth just yet. Was it too much to ask for him to be able to explore his feelings without those outside complications? He had waited all night to be with Hermione, and he was not going to let it be spoiled by  _that_.

He took her by the hand. "I have something to show you."

Draco led her to the far corner of the library, trying not to get too distracted by the sensation of his fingers wrapped around her grip. When they neared the intended destination, Draco dropped their connection and guided her with a gentle hand on the small of her back. One touch of the bare skin and Draco was instantly transported. He forced away the lustful desires. Now was not the time - regardless of how much he craved them.

Draco lifted the charm that disguised the top shelf and pulled down the first of three books. "There may not be any Muggleborn writers in here yet, but there  _is_  a Muggle one."

Her eyes widened as she grazed a finger over the cream white dust cover and across the black print of the title,  _The Fellowship of the Ring_. Draco became all the more pleased with her reaction when she opened to the copyright page. Her jaw fell slack. "This is a first edition," she gasped.

Draco grinned. "Would you like to see the other two?"

Hermione eagerly nodded, and Draco relished in her resulting excitement when she flipped through the decades-old copies.

"These are incredibly rare," she said after several minutes, her expression still filled with awe and amazement.

Draco snorted, well aware of how rare the books were. "If I was going to purchase my own copies, I figured they ought to be versions I couldn't get in a library," he reasoned, a cheeky smile stretched across his lips.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow as she handed the books back to him. "I thought you were opposed to Muggle bookstores?"

"I was," Draco said, returning them to the top shelf. "But after I finished  _The Two Towers,_ I had to give in. You were undoubtedly busy with work, and as you and I both know, I'm a terribly impatient man." He recast the charm to keep his new possession private from his parents' prying eyes. He stepped towards Hermione, his heart beginning to pick up speed at the closing proximity. "Do you know how hard it was to figure out Muggle currency without you?" he said with a taunting grin. "Those coloured banknotes were so odd, I had to speak French so my confusion with the salesman was more justifiable."

A glimmer of surrounding candlelight twinkled in her eyes. "You speak French?"

"There are a lot of things you still don't know about me yet, Granger."

With a mind of their own, Draco's fingers ran themselves through the front wisps of her hair, taking both him and Hermione by surprise and rendering them speechless. A hard swallow travelled down his throat as he met Hermione's stunned gaze, but the tension disappeared from his shoulders when she didn't reject his small gesture of intimacy.

She was beautiful. Not just tonight. Every day. Inside and out. And all he wanted to do was continue to peer into those chocolate irises.

But then that now familiar longing he had first experienced at the British Museum once again began to consume him.

He craved it more than anything he could ever remember longing for in his life. To fell her lips pressed against his. To know that warmth. That comfort.

One kiss. Nothing more. A test.

To put his feelings out there. To see if she felt the same. To determine if risking all this with his parents was worth it.

Nerves pulsed through him. This was it.

His eyelids fluttered closed and he leaned in — until a firm hand pushed against his chest stopped him.

"Theo told me about the potential marriage contract."

The world stopped.

 _"_ What?" Hesitation and pain tainted her features and his heart shattered. This was not happening. Not now. Not when they had been so close. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"Hermione?"

As if the night couldn't get any worse, Potter's voice echoed from the entrance to the library. It didn't take long for their intruder to find them.

"Not a good time, Potter," Draco growled when he came into sight. "Come back in five minutes."

The insufferable wizard didn't leave.

"After she disappeared following her conversation with Nott, I'm not letting her out of my sight again until we're out of this place."

Draco snarled. "I'm not asking. Give me and Hermione just—"

"Actually, I really ought to get home anyway."

Draco's head whipped towards Hermione. He didn't know how to react anymore. His head swirled as everything he wanted from the evening slipped farther from his grasp. "It's hardly past ten," he protested as calmly as he could manage.

She refused to make eye contact with him. "I know, but it was a long week at work, and I really need to rest."

Hermione motioned to leave, but Draco caught her hand before she completely slipped away.

"Don't go yet," he begged, her back turned to him. Hell, he'd get on his bloody knees if that's what it took. Panic started to take over. "Or at least say goodbye to my mother first. Just for a few minutes. It's only proper that you thank the hostess before leaving."

She tensed at the mention of his mother. Slowly, she looked back at him from over her shoulder. "I don't think that's a good idea right now."

Remorseful wavering glossed over her concerned gaze, and his heart lurched. She wanted this too; he felt it in his core.

"Hermione, please," he pleaded. They couldn't leave it like this.

She dropped their connection. "We'll talk later, Draco."

The door clicked closed behind her and Potter, and Draco kicked his foot into a nearby chair.


End file.
